


Infectale

by JellyFicsnFucks



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underswap (Undertale), Eye Licking, Hand Jobs, Handcuffs, On Hiatus, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Zombies, ragdoll - Freeform, unimportant character deaths
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-11-14 20:39:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 53,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18059681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JellyFicsnFucks/pseuds/JellyFicsnFucks
Summary: Hiatus~( ･᷄ㅂ･᷅ ) So... the underground opened up and monsters got to the surface, only to be wiped out by a zombie apocalypse. Fell is searching for survivors and accidentally gets the Swap bros separated. Fell and Honey travel together to search for a cure to the infection, while also searching for their lost brothers.





	1. Last Meal

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for being gone from this fandom for so long.  
> I've taken some stories with me when I left, so please excuse the mess while I re-upload old work.  
> Thanks for voting on Twitter! I will be sure to upload all the incomplete messes ahahaa  
> I'm really surprised to have a following of people who like my stuff, so thank you for the love and support. The messages I've gotten mean the world to me and it makes me terrified to let you down.  
> ฅ(๑’Δ’๑) I'm really sorry to leave you hanging for so long. Thankyou.

  
  


_What?_

Stretch opens his eyes but all he sees is a gray fuzzy roof above him. Streams of light pass over it. There is a strange rumbling underneath him… it’s the bumps of a road. He was in a car. How did he …?

“Are you up again?” There is a voice from the front of the car. The voice is soft as if the speaker were talking to a child. Stretch tries to sit up now and clips on a proper seatbelt to secure him to his chair, it's more out of habit than anything. He felt tired and dizzy but he forces himself to look to the front seat. There’s a person there but Stretches’ eyes are still blurry. He can make out the frame of the person reaching out towards the car mirror, they adjust it to get a look at the back seat. To get a good look Pap’s face.

“Don’t panic.” The voice is familiar but on a deeper, granular, register. Pap blinks away his sleep and makes out the white skull of the driver, a skeleton like him. At first, he thinks it's his little brother but the monster is much too tall and his voice is much too deep. “You are going through the first phase of the virus.” He articulates his words as if Stretch can't understand him. “Fainting and blackouts are supposed to be common. We’re an hour away from a military camp, okay? If you start to have chills or shakes, please for the love of Asgore, tell me! The last thing I need is you gnawing on my neck while I’m driving.”

A pain runs up his leg as he placed his feet on the floor. Stretch looks down, staring for a long time at the foreign object wrapped around his leg. It’s a white sweater. Is it the driver's clothes? Stretch can almost remember what happened… but it feels so hazy in his mind.

Everything feels hazy.

His body feels like it's rocking forward and backward, even though Stretch know this road is steady. The feeling makes him nauseous. It feels like he was on the beach with relentless waves hitting his sore head. Stretch opens his mouth to speak, but his tongue feels lazy and numb. Stretch looks back down at the shirt tied around his leg.

His brother… Sans… had been infected and… accidentally... _bit_ his ankle.

There was blood. So much blood. Stretch remembers that much at least… all that fills his head now is questions. _‘Where am I? Where is my brother? ‘_

Stretch rubs his eyes with the back of his hand. There’s an icky crust that covers his eye socket. Its stained yellow and looks like a booger. Stretch shudders at the thought this had been in his eye. He rubs it on his pants leg and looks out to the front seat again, but all Stretch sees is the back of a man's skull. He has a large crack running through his parietal bone that probably wraps all the way down towards the monsters frontal lobe. It doesn't look like it hurts, the wound is old and healed, but Stretch still flinches at the sight of the fracture. Calming down, he clears his throat and tries again.

“Take me back home… please.” Stretch begs.

“Back? Back to that empty shitstain town?”

“My brother can't… I need to protect him.” No good, his voice was cracking.

“Look, Mr….” He waits to hear the skeleton’s name politely but Stretch don’t have the voice to respond to him. There is a long silence which neither of them partakes in. After a while, he continues back to his point. “Your brother was already overcome by the virus, he’s dead. You’re the only living person I’ve seen in days. I’m not just going to drop you off in that godforsaken town so you can die! I’m taking you to a military camp, they said on the radio they have medicine for people and monsters still in the early stages.”

_Medicine…_

His priorities are wrong. Stretch nods his head. He should get treated first. Then he can go see his brother. He was no use to anyone if he was infected. His eyes feel heavy but Stretch looks to the man in the front seat. Now that his eyes have cleared and he can see the thick skull, he remembers him.

The driver broke into his house, presumably looking for food. His baby brother tried to attack but Stretch protected this stranger. Stretch didn’t want him to get hurt. This stranger is the only living thing he had seen in weeks.

Then… some stuff happened. His brother accidentally bit him and now he was also infected. _How much time did he have left?_ Stretch had to go back to his brother. Stretch had to protect his little bro. Sans is the only family he has left!

But his eyes feel so heavy…

~-~-~-~

“You awake again?” Stretch finds himself lying on his back over the seats in the car _. Had he just blacked out?_ All the seatbelts are undone and wrapped around him, holding him in place safely. His wrists are bound by duct tape and the radio is on. On the news there is a mother searching for her missing child and begging anyone for information on the nine-year-old. The driver switches the news off and parks off the side of the road. “Sorry, I had to tie you up. I wasn’t sure if you would wake up… _alive_.” The driver places a hand over the passenger seat and turns around to Stretch. “I’ll take you back now if that’s what you want. I’m sorry for trying to take you so far... and all for nothing.”

_Nothing?_

With his hands bound in front of him, Stretch tries to push himself off the seats and turn to face the monster. His throat hurts. It hurts like there are maggots trying to crawl up and out his mouth, but Stretch tries to speak to the driver. “Where-“

Stretch coughs immediately, spitting up blood over his own neck, his vertebrae, ribs, and half the car cushions. Stretch desperately rolls over, trying not to drown in his own blood. His throat is bleeding… he must be getting worse. For a skeleton, blood did not run through their veins but through the magic vessel of their soul. It seemed endless, for as long as a person was alive, but there was a limit… and that limit would eventually lead to his dusting.

The driver waits patiently for Stretch to stop so that he can answer. There isn’t much Stretch can hear besides his own raspy breathing. He feels the driver’s eyes check his status, watching him for any sudden movements. The act is more out of fear, rather than concern for his well being. Stretch doesn’t hold the fact against the stranger. When the coughing fit stops at last he listens carefully for his long awaited answer.

“We’ve passed the camp. We’re on the highway now, heading back towards Emain. I don’t really know what kind of religion people fall back on in times like this but I-.”

“The… vaccine?” Stretch gasp and interrupts him, trying to speak through a mouth full of blood. “What … what happened?” His teeth crunch suddenly, Stretch spit up. One of his teeth came out. The tiny pearl of a tooth slides away and lands somewhere on the floor of the car.

“There’s no cure. It was just an internment camp. I’m sorry.” The driver takes off his seatbelt and turns around fully, facing Stretch. It’s only then that Stretch blinks away the blur from his eyes and gets a good look at the skeleton. His twin.

Opening the barrier door to the underground simultaneously created diverging universes, all of which had flooded upon the same surface world. Monsters welcomed it. Some had taken side by side selfies of their twins. Hashtags of ‘alter-mates’, as a cute title for their alternate copies, became common. Everyone became obsessed with finding their twin like some interdimensional scavenger hunt. He remembers Muffet being quite excited to share with him her copy… though they looked nothing alike. The full-bodied duplicate filled her with the hope and excitement that one day when she grew up she would have the same curves. Well… back when she was alive.

This Papyrus copy seems to have darker eyes. Eyes that scorn him and watch his every move like a predator watches its prey. His right eye is scarred, two cuts run through it and stretch towards his brow. His teeth are sharpened, but not so much that it was jarring to look at. His bones show signs of damage; scars, bruises, and scratches litter the pale bones wherever there was a gap in clothing that showed it. Stretch traces the leather jacket with his eyes and tries to imagine himself wearing such darkened clothes, it certainly wasn't his style. Who would wear something that uncomfortable? The plastic leather practically squeaked with every slight movement.

Stretch didn’t know why he was staring so long at his alternate or why the Papyrus double began to get blurry before his eyes.

He hears the voice continue, even though Stretch can’t see his face, and finds it odd how they sounded nothing alike even though they had the same voice. “I’ll take you back home. You can spend what little life you have there. You can dust peacefully there, right? If that’s too much for you to bare, knowing that you’ll be one of them… I can end it now.”

“No!” Stretch urges himself to yell, it escapes through his mouth and forces another burst of blood to pop past his teeth, his soul jumps.

“Easy there!” The duplicate comforts him. “I’m not going to end you! I was just offering you that option. Some monsters would rather die than become a … literal monster. Don’t you think? Take some deep breaths. I wasn’t going to kill you unless you ask!”

Stretch tries to breathe normally but he was still unable too. The base of his skull is wet. His head feels stuck to the seat cushions. All around him, blood splatters his cheek and neck. His blood is on the floor, on the seats, and he was just laying in it like a pig in mud. The strong taste of blood is much like vomit in his mouth, chunky and convulsive, but the smell is more like copper.

“Hey, are you …okay?”. The duplicate points a manifested bone in his direction, wary of him right now. Stretch can’t turn himself enough to puke to the floor, talking felt like he would wretch up any sentence into a fowl yellowish liquid, but he moves just enough to nods his head. Its enough confirmation to the skeleton who puts down his weapon. Stretch isn’t okay. He’s far from okay. But they both know the real question was whether or not he was alive. Conscious. Because the crime scene in the back seat paints a different story, Stretch can’t blame him for being cautious.

Blood spews out from the small nod. It fans out over his neck and hoodie and his body makes violent jerks. That’s it, he can’t move. His body is crying out –no more! Everything hurts! He closes his eyes for a minute, terrified of blacking out again without warning as he had before, but time doesn’t change when he opens his eyes again.

“Feeling okay? You’re losing a lot of magic blood...” His face is torn with repulsion. Stretch appreciates his soft tones and kind words but he can tell it’s hard for the duplicate to even look at him. The double bites his lip. “Blood…” He utters again, perhaps shock finally registered through him.

Stretch looks up towards the ceiling, feeling the cold wet puddle slosh beside his eardrum. It sends an unpleasant tingle down his spine. He stares upwards and thinks to himself if this is what it’s like to die. He had dreams of dying. Re-occurring nightmares he knows are part of the resets that happened to this world before… but there was no proof of that and that odd feeling was always numb. His memories of the events were far and few between and years had passed since that last horrible nightmare.

This feeling now is like the sensation of drowning in acid. It feels like his throat is on fire and his ribcage has swollen to the point where they might have popped like balloons if they were not made of bone. His eyes can't even pick up light anymore; the world has started to lose its color and texture. His head feels as though it was spinning. His ears are ringing. He was sure he was dying.

“You might have a few hours left…” The double says. Stretch doesn’t look at him, so he can't tell what kind of face he’s making, but his tone is awfully dour. “I’ll take you to Emain, you can spend the rest of your time left in the home you lived in. … Is there anything else I can do for you? Anything you really wanted?” He’s trying to help ease his pain so Stretch can pass to the next world without any regrets but the somber tone just makes Stretch feel worse. Stretch feels like crying. Stretch feels like bawling his eyes out and praying to Queen Toriel or that hack Asgore for help. Hell, even a human god. Any god.

Damn it, of course there are things Stretch really wanted! There’s so much Stretch hasn’t done with his life. There’s so much Stretch wanted to do. There’s so much Stretch hasn’t experienced. He was not ready to die. For fuck's sake, he had only just got to the surface and now this rotten fucking plague was wiping out their species! They were better off stuck behind that goddamn barrier! Stretch was only just starting to look forward to his new life on the surface. And his brother- his precious brother who meant the world to him- was still out there! He needed to protect him!

“I want to live!” Stretch cries out with a sore voice. He doesn’t know who he was telling this too. It’s not directed toward anyone in particular. Maybe he was pleading with whatever being held his life in its grubby hands. Whether that be lady fate herself or a god, Stretch had no clue.

Stretch screams it again.

“I want to live!” He coughs violently, feeling his blood pool into the nape of his neck, dripping into every curvature of bone and cartilage. It soaks into the top of his shirt and pools in the base of his skull. Stretch can’t even see anymore. His vision is gone.

~-~-~-~

He focuses his eye lights to look around.

His magic swirls chaotically inside his chest.

He had lost a lot of blood but his health hadn’t taken any damage.

Stretch had blacked out again, he notes it's becoming more frequent. Stretch doesn’t have much time before he slipped into stage two of the virus.

His throat, that was sore earlier, is now coated in a slime. It feels gross but Stretch scrapes at it from the outside, scratching the yellow slime away from him. He tries to peel as much of it as he can from the base of his neck. It’s a liquid, yet it retains its shape. He’d find it interesting if it came from anyone else but him, but now Stretch only finds it repulsive and sickening. He wipes the goo on his hoodie and makes a whine in his throat. His soul is racing and his bones ache…

“Hey, good morning sunshine. Have a nice nap?” The driver says sarcastically. He looks over at him from his rearview mirror. “This is your neighborhood, right? I don’t know where exactly your house was…” Stretch can’t sit up or see out the window. So he lies there, hanging over the seat with his jaw slackened and his eyes blurred. The slick of magic residue based blood slides over his tongue. He can’t taste it anymore, but it keeps coming up. Stretch winces again as his soul pounds hard against the side of his ribcage. “Are you dead yet?” Stretch hears from the front seat. “Can I shove you out this van if you're dead?”

How much time has passed? The blood-soaked fabric on car seats is still wet, it hasn’t yet caked or changed color. Then again, Stretch doesn’t know how long it takes for blood to congeal like that. As far as he knew, he could have been sleeping for minutes or even days. Waking up again was a miracle in itself. His body shudders suddenly, a cold chill passing through his spine. It rakes his entire frame, he buckles in place, desperately trying to find relief. His teeth chatter.

Stage two’s begun.

 _It hurts._ Stretch shudders again as a violent chill sweeps through him. His heartbeat becomes frightfully loud in his ears. It drums a beat that the chills follow. _It hurts._ His chest feels like its going to burst. Every bone, every cell, every atom in his body feels like it’s going to suddenly combust and turn him into a living icicle. The first beads of sweat start at his forehead. Stretch clenches his teeth. The pain spreads through his body, surging like a volt of electricity through every conduit of his limbs.

“Hey, don’t go zombie in my back seat!” The double yells. Then he changes his tone again. “Is this your house?” Stretch shakes his head but realizes the other can’t see him from back here. Stretch didn’t want to move. Every cell in his body is fighting for life. Stretch just wanted to lie here and not move. Maybe the pain wouldn't be so bad if Stretch did nothing but sleep. He was used to it, when resets were bad he would just sleep them all away. It was like death, without the commitment. But he can’t sleep. His doppelganger is waiting for an answer. It feels excruciating and draining, but Stretch moves his tongue a little, making soft words, telling him his actual address.

He shrinks into himself, clutching his ribs with bound hands. His body is fighting. Every ounce of magic in his body is confused. Every cell is erupting from the inside out. His body is in total chaos. It’s fighting an invisible enemy and now that Stretch knows there's no cure, everything is just a matter of time. He was already in stage two… how long did he have until stage five?

Stretch remembers the news reports when the outbreak first started. From stage one, the virus could take as little time as 12 minutes to 8 days to fully kill the isolated patients... it was ultimately up to each individual and how much pain they could tolerate.

Stretch was never a royal guard. He’d never trained his endurance or given his all in fitness. He ate sweet junk food and lounged around all day. He was nowhere near fit or healthy. The only time he had ever taken action was when… that human. No, those nightmares were behind him now. A reset hadn’t happened in years, he was sure another wouldn't happen.

He was weak and it hurts too much to think about so Stretch tries to shake the thought from his head. The point was, he had never trained his body, never maxed out his endurance… He has no doubt in his mind his pain tolerance was low. He’d be gone by tomorrow. His existence will cease to exist and his body will not be given the right to dust like his ancestors. He’d just join the horde that roams around the city endlessly.

Will Stretch be aware of himself when he was dead? Will Stretch know what’s going on around him? Stretch clutched his chest. _Something hurts_. It felt like his chest is pulsing. It has a new heartbeat, it's faster and irregular. It pushes air into his nonexistent lungs and then it punches the wind out of him. He closes his eyes and wills the pain to stop.

“This is the place. I don’t see any movement…” The driver turns off the car and turns around in his chair again to face Stretch. “That looks painful...”

Stretch tries to sit up, he wants to see his home. He pushes up from the backseat and flails about. His legs and his waist are still buckled into the seats. Stretch bends for the seatbelt button, trying to unravel this mysterious buckle science. It's such a simple task… something he’s done a million times but in his frayed mind Stretch can't comprehend it. He was aware he couldn’t comprehend it and it makes him all the more frustrated. At last, Stretch succeeds and he sits up and stares out the car window.

Wine colored roof, pale walls, Christmas decorations still up even though it was May... Yup, this is home. The grass is brown and most of the lawn Santas have cracks and shards of ceramic coming out of their brains. They’ve been stepped on too many times. The windows still have wooden boards blocking them, but the door is wide open.

Stretch looks towards the sky. This is the last time he might see it. The setting sun is beautiful. There are warm colors, like red, pink, yellow, orange and there are cool colors like blue white and green. The sky is in perfect balance with only a few clouds streaked here and there. He had longed to see this sky for so long. It’s a perfect sky to see him off. Stretch could almost cry.

But he doesn’t. Stretch looks back inside the car, at his clone who clutches a glowing red bone attack that looks more like a spear and less like a femur. He sits with one hand on the back of the car seat like some gangster. He looks towards Stretch, eyeing him suspiciously. It seems his trust in him is diminishing the more time passes. Stretch must look like a bloody mess. But he was still alive, at least for now, so his clone is trying to be civil.

Stretch tries to thank him for trying to save him. Even though there was no cure. It pains him to know their government isn’t even searching for a solution. Now its just kill or be killed. Yet this monster, this emo gangster-like clone draped over the front of the car, tried to get him a cure. And when that plan failed the gothic Papyrus drove him back home.

Stretch was doomed to die, he didn’t deserve that kindness.

Whether Stretch died in his home or some island made no difference. The dead can’t tell where they drop. It was considerate of him to respect his last wishes… his last thoughts of home.

“Sankyew.” The words are slurred with blood and teeth but he clears his throat and tries to speak clearly. “It’s uh…getting dark.” Stretch coughs, putting his hands up to his mouth to stop from vomiting blood again. The chills have passed, but there is a quake inside him that still continues. Its minor, like the rumble of his empty stomach. Stretch speaks up. “You should stay.” Stretch bites his tongue trying to force out the words he wants. A lump of bile presses against his teeth, he swallows it grimly and tries to speak in fewer words. “Stay. indoors. It’s. safe.”

“No offense, but you're going to be brain dead by morning. I might even kill you come sunrise.”

“Then…” Stretch stifles a cough and spits up into his cupped hands, another tooth. “I’d cease to be myself.”

There is a silence in the car that holds for a while. Did Stretch just resign himself to being killed by his clone? Stretch was forgiving his future killer here. The clone realizes that too, doesn’t he? There’s a depressing mood in the car now.

“Does your house have food?”

Stretch nods his head and makes a small sound in his throat. The leather-clad Papyrus gets up from his seat and crawls to the backseat end of the car. “What stage are you in?” He grabs Stretch’s phalanges, pulling his hands into sight, and rolls a band of tape around his wrists. Diy handcuffs. Stretch allows it, not fighting. This was for his protection too.

“Two? Three?” Stretch doesn’t know which it is. He was having chills earlier… but now they’ve quieted and the pain is less intense. He had no clue if that was a sign that he was transitioning to the next stage or not.

“How are you feeling?” The copy lays a heavy hand on his forehead. “You’re burning up...” He takes a glance outside and pulls Stretch’s tied hands over his neck. “Listen, I’ll help you inside. It's roughly twenty feet. Can you make it without… you know?” Stretch nods his head again allowing himself to be carried like a toddler. He wraps his femur against the other monsters waist and let himself be carried for a piggyback ride. The clone opens the car door, materializing the red sharpened bone in one hand. He makes a quick turn in a circle, looking for any stragglers who might attack.

The leather-clad clone takes a step towards the house and another, wary of the gaping door that taunts them. Anything could have burrowed inside. He stays along the walls of the house. He secures the area, checking every room, every hallway. Until he deems that this place is safe.

Stretch guessed that means his brother is gone. He breathed a long sigh, accepting it as it is. Stretch wanted to see his brother before he died but he guessed he should be glad to have any company at all.

Stretch looks towards his ‘ _company’_. The copy of him releases his bone weapon and sets Stretch down on top of the kitchen table, rather than a chair. Then he raids the fridge, looking for anything to eat.

Stretch knows there isn’t much. Food had become rotted with something airborne- forgot what it was called. Canned goods are all that’s edible now so it's beyond him why anyone would start looking in the fridge. The clone pulls out two bottles with a wide grin and sets them on the table. Stretch stares at the bottles. Olives and pickles. Stretch hadn’t even opened the fridge since the power went out. He just assumed everything was bad, he supposes now if he was hungry enough that junk might also pass as food.

The clone grabs a fork from the drawer and fishes around for a pickle. He offers one to Stretch, pushing it in his face, but Stretch shakes his head. His mind is not on his stomach right now. All the pain has stopped suddenly. It makes him worry. As if Stretch should prepare for a sharp ache at any time.

“You know, pickles can survive on the shelf for almost two years, right? It’s the only vegetable that survived but it’s not a common thing to have in the kitchen like ketchup and mustard, useless by the way. Disgusting. I get it's the end of the world or whatever, who honestly gives a fuck, but you won't find me sucking down mustard like some lazy bones...”

“We have preserves… in the cabinet.” Stretch felt a chunk of blood come to his throat but swallowed it curtly, rolling his eyes back into his head. The taste of copper, nasty.

“Drinking your blood? What are you a vampire?” His twin laughs at him, a cute “Nyeh heh” snort that seems like something his little brother would do, but it was out of place on the menacing skeleton. Suddenly his eyes become serious, slanting into a predator-like scowl. “Tastes good?” His voice is deep, inquisitive... Stretch shook his head. “Good, then you haven’t hit stage four.”

Not like it matters, Stretch thinks to himself, he’d be dead before sunrise. He’d already accepted that. He wonders what the stages were and tries to count each one off in his head.

One was fainting spells and blackouts.

Two was cell rejection. It caused chills and shakes.

Three was numbness and fever

… _oh_... is that what he had now? Has he progressed that far already? _Forget sunrise!_ He won't make it through the night…

What was after that?

Stage four? The disease spreads to the brain, causing Agnosia. That’s why blood would taste good. Following that would be brain damage, severe memory loss. Monster and human physiology was a bit different... it would seep into his soul and the blackness within his skull instead but the same would happen.

And stage five… complete loss of consciousness, death, and reanimation. Reborn as one of… them. He was only two stages away now…

The clone raids the pantry, having finished the jar quickly. Stretch sees him pull a knife from the drawer and tuck it into his sleeve. He thinks the action was sly, but it wasn’t. Stretch wonders why he would take a knife and not rely on his magic but doesn’t bother to ask. It’s not his business… and in a couple hours the answer wouldn’t matter anyway. The bottom line was self-defense was important, no matter the method.

The clone comes back to the table with an arm full of cans. He looks over them reading them out loud. “Let’s sees what you got here… crap. Crap. Crap… Who the hell eats canned turkey? Do you trust that? I don’t trust that. Applesauce. Carrots. Corn. Beans. Beans. Fruit cocktail. Beans. Spinage! Thank Asgore, something actually edible!” He kisses the can and laughs. Then he looks over at Stretch as if Stretch was the one with the problem. “What? I’ve been living off ramen noodles and peanut butter for the past two weeks. Is it wrong to want something healthy?!”

Stretch shakes his head, starting a fight would be stupid. “Inside the oven…” Stretch gags on his words and tries not to spit up blood. Another crunch finds its way to his mouth. Stretch swallows his blood, disgusted, and pushes his tongue out his mouth with the foreign object. Another tooth. _Gross_.

The monster already found his way to the oven and leafs through the box there. Stretch knows there's some good food inside. Soups, rice, instant meals, and dried dairy. Preserves and even canned salmon. He smiles wickedly seeing the food saved.

“How the hell did you keep all this? Didn’t the army-” He puts the box on the table next to the sick skeleton. Stretch shuffles over, making room for the new stuff. “Wait. Don’t tell me. This is too good to be true.” He sits down with a can opener and takes his pick of some vegetable soup. “Which do you want?” Stretch shakes his head. What does it matter what Stretch wanted? By stage four he wouldn’t be able to taste any of that. Everything normal will taste putrid. By stage five he’ll die.

There’s no need to waste supplies on him. “There’s not enough food.” Stretch mumbles. “Take everything with you.” If Stretch had one value in his life before he dies, maybe he could help this copy of him.

“Don’t be like that… it’s your last meal or something right? Besides, I haven’t seen anyone for so long. Eat with me. I’ll feel better to have company, even if it’s just for a little while.” His voice becomes quieted, realizing he’s talking about something quite depressing. There’s really nothing Stretch can do about it. Stretch just kind of accepts it at this point. He was not looking forward to it… but... there’s nothing he can do. It was a hopeless and miserable fact that he was infected. Stretch would have liked to see his brother before he passed… but he’s not here. He must have left through the door while this guy was trying to drive him to the military camp.

The clone pushes a can in his face. “Dumpling soup?” He asks. Stretch stares at the can. Surprised by the thing suddenly thrust in his vision. The clone must have thought Stretch didn’t want it because he tries again. “How about beef and broccoli?” Stretch shakes his head again. “Come on, please eat something.” He begs.

Sourly, Stretch takes the can of soup in his hands. His wrists are bound together still but Stretch can still eat like this. The copy undoes the lid for him and starts to work on his own. Stretch sips it slowly. Wary of his wounded throat and careful not to swallow any teeth. It’s lukewarm and tastes kind of bland. Maybe he should have shaken it up first. The clone seems to be enjoying his meal, but then again he claimed he hasn’t eaten real food in weeks.

Stretch looks down at his tin and holds it in his hands carefully. This isn’t much of a last meal. He’d really like some of Muffet’s famous pastries, or his brother's tacos, or even a big bottle of liquor... Or realistically, a can of peaches. Something sweet. Soup is… soup.

“Hey, what’s your name?” The hot topic clone tilts his head and scrapes a chair along the floor to find a seat. He waits patiently for an answer.

“Papyrus.”

“Idiot. I already know that.” The copy rolls his eyes. “I meant, what do I call you?”

“... Legendary Fart Master.”

“Dumbass, I’m not calling you that.”

“Yes, you are. It's my last wish.” Stretch grins.

“Well fine! In that case, you have to call me Boss!”

“Hell no.”

“Master?”

“No.”

“Lord!?”

“How about… No.”

The clone throws up his hands in a fit of anger and marches to the window. He decides to pull a plate from the cabinet and slink it out into the yard just to sate his anger. Stretch scoffs. The conversation moves forward. The clone changes the subject. “... I’m from Underfell.”

“Ha, I could have guessed the moment I saw your lvl. You should be right at home in this hell storm huh?”

“Of course I’m not! This is nothing like my underground! There are no rules here and the human world stinks of urine and dead people! At least monsters had the goddamn courtesy to dust!”

“... I’ll call you Edgy.”

“Fine! Then from now on you’re name is Asshole!” He extends his hand to shake on it. Stretch smirks. He figures it won't matter anyhow come morning. He puts down his tin and makes to grab his hand politely but it's awkward with his hands taped like this.

“I hope you survive the night.”

“…Thanks.” He was not sure exactly how to respond to that, but he was sort of glad someone was rooting for him.

“Damn I’m still hungry…” Edge sighs. He lays his head on the table and lets go of this awkward three handed handshake.

Stretch wanted to tell him to eat as much as he wants. No need to save any for him. His body feels numb and he feels tired. He leans backward to doze off, hitting the base of his skull on the kitchen wall. A bit closer than he thought, but it doesn’t hurt. He closes his eyes again and tries to, at long last, rest.

  
  



	2. Not Un-dead

“Congratufuckulations!”

The sarcastic tone is the first thing Stretch can hear in the morning. He blinks open his eyes but it's still dark outside and he can’t see much besides the white specs of dust floating in his line of vision. He raises a hand to his face, not surprised when the other hand unwillingly follows the ascent. His wrists had been duct taped together. For his own protection, he had been tied up. Bound, but it didn't matter. The bonds did not restrict him and he knows the other skeleton did it for his own safety.

He balls his right hand to his face and rubs tiredly at the eye socket. His magic takes a while to coalesce. He looks up at and around himself, trying to make a room out of the various depths of shadows. He notes that he is in the car again, though this time he was in the front seat; properly sat and upright. A seat belt wraps around his chest and a rope holds him firm to the chair. Through the front window, the early glow of dawn barely lights up the streets and for some reason, the idiot is driving without any headlights.

“You must be starving, Asshole. Hold on, I’ll pull over.”

That voice belongs to Edge, he can remember that much, but the rest seems to be dull in his mind.

Stretch tries to think back on what happened. His brother was calling him, begging. No. Screaming for help as Alphys attacked him. She only scratched him and already he had begun to convulse in pain. He picked him up, cradled him in his arms and sang to his younger bro until Sans couldn't even cry anymore.

He couldn't even walk anymore.

He only grumbled and made half incoherent utterances like a child. He would coo soft vowels for hunger and Paps… Paps had to keep his brother alive. He had to keep him safe until a cure was found. There would be no more resets.

This was it.

He had to protect his brother. He had to keep him alive no matter what. It was only natural that parts of his deceased neighbors and friends -too indistinguishable to be recognized as people anymore- quickly became food. And it was okay, Paps told himself. Because his bro was in there somewhere. Deep, deep, locked inside the consciousness of real monster. He could see him still. He could hear him still. Sans would smile up at him with his face streaked of blood and his tiny hands would reach out for ‘pah-pee’ and even though his words were broken he still spoke so of course, his brother was alive and okay. Of course Sans was okay and Stretch wanted to protect him like that until that stranger entered their home. And Edgy left the house with the door open.

But… that's in the past. He met with Edgy, who tried to save him and drive him to a shelter. Then returned him home to live out his last few hours. They went back to his home and searched for Sans. His bro wasn't in the house when he last checked. That's what Edge said. They sat in the kitchen and talked and ate some canned food and now… they were in a car.

He can’t remember anything else past that. How did he even get in this car? He was most likely moved while he was unconscious. He wonders how long they have been driving… and how far his home is from wherever the car was now that they parked and stood in silence.

It’s still dark outside, so Stretch rationalizes he mustn’t have slept very long. He wonders how much time he had left. What stage of the disease was he in? Is his brain damaged? Was he losing his memory? It was pointless to ponder that. He can't remember what he’s forgotten, so how would he know if he’d forgotten anything?

“Edge?” He tries to call the copy but it’s difficult. Even though his throat doesn’t hurt much anymore, his teeth feel loose. Edge turns the key over and lets the car engine die. Then he reaches towards the backseat for a bag. He grabs it quickly and returns his eyes to Stretch. He plunges his arm into the deep backpack and pulls out a cylindrical shadow from the abyss.

“Here, eat.” He flicks on the overhead light and undoes the lid to a can of corn. Edge’s hands are stained with dirt and blood. Stretch wonders if it’s his own blood or someone else’s. Probably better not to ask him about it. The other was from Underfell anyhow, condemning him for being a killer was pointless… especially with how the surface was now. He should be glad the monster was on his side anyhow. So he accepts the corn, grateful for something to eat. 

“What’s going on? Why congratulate me? Did I win something?” Then another thought passes through him. “Am I cured?!”

Edge rolls his eyes. “ No. But you're not dead, so… yeah. ” Stretch feels the tiny spark of hope in him fade. He probably won’t make it pass sunrise.

He thought the plan was to stay in his house over the night. His last night. Especially since the roads aren’t safe, but it looks like Edge didn’t heed his advice. Not to mention he dragged Stretch with him in his little joy ride. _Fucking great_.

Stretch looks out the window, trying to get his bearings and find out where they are. Right now they are parked on the side of a highway. It’s surprisingly…empty. More so than he thought it would be. On TV, before the broadcastings had stopped, there had been footage of military trucks and tanks plowing all the cars off the main roads. If he squinted really hard into the darkness he could see them stacked over one another, pushed towards the dead forest.

Stretch puts the lid of the can to his teeth, cutting his tongue on the rim. He doesn’t mind the taste of blood anymore. It doesn’t even bother him. He’s just really hungry. He slurps down the syrupy goodness of fresh corn, chewing shallowly but mostly just eating the kernels whole. It wasn’t as sweet as the baked goods from Muffets, but he couldn't complain. Food was food.

“You gave me a scare back there.” Edge crosses his hands over his chest, a red glow dusts his cheeks as he admits this. “I thought you were done for. You’re the only Asshole I’ve seen in weeks so… I was… really happy you reverted back to stage one. It’s sort of rare but I guess since you're a Papyrus, after all, no damn virus can take you out. So you have a bit more time now, probably not much but… ”

Edge starts to mumble, he doesn't like saying something so emotional like this. Stretch can sort of understand, so he just nods his head. Not everyone was as open as his lil bro. That was fine. Edge looks like he’s struggling to say something important anyhow. Stretch gazes out the window, not wanting to interrupt Edge as he tries to find the right words.

Soon Stretch gets lost in his own mind. He should be glad he’s reverted to stage one. When the virus was still small and manageable scientists found about 1 out of every 20 would stage jump but it means nothing to Stretch. It only delayed the inevitable. He was still going to die. It’s not like he had been given an extra month to live. At best, a few hours.

“Anyhow, Asshole.” Edge leans over the steering wheel and side-eyes him like a thug. “I’m going to keep driving till we get back to Ebott. I’m kidnapping you.”

“So you wanted company.”

“NO~ you're a hostage! You can’t leave and you're not dieing until we get to that damn mountain!” Edge starts up the car again and drives out into the darkness ahead. Stretch smirks.

“Okay then…. As a hostage can I touch the radio?”

“No.”

Stretch looks out the passenger side window. He doesn’t see how Edge is able to stay on the road. Without the headlights on and no streetlamps, the darkness seems to continue forever. The dashboard looks different too. All the lights have been ripped out of it, wires hang over the panel and some run around the car. Stretch traces the colored wires to the trunk where it disappears. He looks at the backseat now and looks over it again.

The spot of blood where he had been bleeding out is gone. Come to think of it, the interior of this car is entirely different too. Did he steal this?! Not that it matters anymore...

“We were targeted first.” He starts to say sourly, the conversation begins out of nowhere. “Humans never liked us monsters. Monsters from Underfell, even less so. The military used this event as an excuse to wipe us out. Even if there was a cure… I’m sure they wouldn’t it offer it to our kind. Maybe they’d just let us all die out first.”

Stretch slumps in his chair. As much as he’d like to fight that conspiracy and eagerly fight on behalf of humans, he knows it's true. Before they arrived on the surface, before the human Frisk had opened the barrier and all of time and space and alternate universes collided into one plateau, there had been nothing but genocide resets. He has few memories of them, nightmares mostly, but he knows they are real. Even though the therapist says it’s not. Humans were fueled by greed and hatred. It was their nature. The first thing any of them would do is fight. It was basic common sense, run or fight. It's a wonder why humans hate Underfell when they share the same principles.

Stretch has lost a lot of faith in humanity recently… he thinks it would be nice to know that the marines were fighting for everyone, instead of just their own kind. He’d heard rumors the virus was made just to wipe out monsters, but now it was killing everyone. He’d also heard rumors that the virus came from the Underground. Seems everyone was pointing fingers in the past, now they just point guns.

Up ahead a lit sign read TirnaNog and as they pass the overhead sign Stretch tries his best to remember the world map. The surface was so big… How long would a drive back to Mt. Ebott take? Would he be able to make the journey? Stretch didn’t have much hope to make it out of the state, much less to any viewing distance of that mountain that was his home for twenty years.

That first day, the barrier opened, Stretch was so excited to stand at the top and see the whole world for the first time in his life. The sky, the stars, the feel of wind and the sun on his bare bones… He never wanted to go back to his Snowdin home. But now, the underground home in Snowdin is all he can think of. It was a happier time, back when they lived in ignorance and they were perfectly satisfied with the surface being something made up to inspire young children.

Stretch naturally had a realistic point of view. He never thought he could make it to the surface. But with his little brother by his side, he would always try to look on the positive side of things. No matter how dark things got, Stretch would try to stay positive for both their sake.

It was hard to be positive now, when there was nothing to look forward to. His brother was gone. He was infected and soon to die. And going back to the abandoned underground didn’t seem too appealing. But, well… Edgy is here with him. And in his own stubborn way, kidnapping him, he’s trying to help. Even though Stretch had given up…

“So…Why are you helping me?” Stretch doesn't bother trying to look at the other; he wouldn't see his face anyhow in the dark. “I mean… other than being bored to drive alone. You should have killed me when I was asleep. There was no guarantee I would have woke up as myself.” Edge keeps driving, eyes focused on the road and doesn’t respond. Stretch smacks his tongue flat against his teeth and sighs. “In fact, I might change any minute… and take a bite out of you while you’re driving. I was well into stage three when I blacked out again. Even if you say I went back to stage one… that doesn’t guarantee I’ll live any longer than before. My symptoms might jump directly to stage four… I might not have much time left at all. Bet I won't even make it to sunrise.” He lets a soft heckle pass his teeth. Death didn't seem to matter. His brother was gone. To be honest, his little brother had been gone for a long, long, time. He had to accept that. He had to stop personifying the dead.

“...” Edge swats him across the seats and lays a warm hand on top of Stretch’s skull. “Shut up and eat, Asshole. You’re starving, right?”

“Guess so.”

“You’ve been asleep for nearly two days. I don’t know how long you have, but your body is fighting back. That’s something, right?”

Two days? Stretch pales. He’s missed two whole days?!

It's not exactly a new thing to sleep so long, he rationalizes, so maybe he shouldn't be as shocked. There were times he had slept in on weekends and just rolled over until Sans woke him or his stomach compelled him to get out of bed. But sleep was different from the empty, dreamless state of being unconscious.

Stretch really doesn’t know how to feel about that. He doesn’t know how to feel about death or hunger. Everything feels numb to him. Everything feels… _Empty_.

Was he losing himself? His state of mind could be slowly dissolving. The Stretch of a few days ago would panic if he had been told he was going to die. He still had a whole future to look forward to, still had to prepare for Sans’s college, and pay bills, and get to a shitty job he hated but he’d endure it because he wanted to stay on the surface and live. Live for the first time in freedom.

Stretch felt tired. His mind was running in circles again. He wanted to curl up into a ball and cry. This wasn’t the first time he had died. He’s sure that there had been dozens… maybe hundreds of times he had been killed… in nightmares. But this world wouldn't reset like his dreams. This world was permanent and - _oh gods, he was going to die_. This isn’t a joke! Even if Stretch came back... _reanimated_ … like his brother and neighbors…would he cease to exist? Would he still have his personality? His memories? His motives and aspirations?

What the hell was he going to do? _No. No, it's not really happening._ He tries to calm down. His brother probably didn’t bite him that deep, it was a graze that’s all, a graze!

Stretch looks toward his ankle. Once swaddled in a t-shirt it now has been properly taken care of, wrapped in gauze. The edges of the fabric are stained with red marrow. He takes a deep breath and exhales through his nasal cavity _. Okay, so he was bleeding a lot. It wasn’t a shallow wound._

__

_But maybe it's not infected!_

He groaned inwardly, who was he trying to fool? Of course, it’s infected. He was bitten by his zombie brother. Even small, Sans has the same toxins as the others.

It's all _his_ fault. _Edge_.

The brothers never had a problem when they were living alone. Even though Sans was infected, he was still there somehow. His mind wasn’t gone! He had never bit Stretch before. He always followed Stretch’s instruction and waited with vacant blue eyes for his brother to bring him meat rather than hunting. He could carry his little brother around without him fighting in his arms and he could still hear the soft mews of his brother in those incoherent babbles. Sans was alive! Even if he was… he was alive!

Until one day some Edgy jackass decides to waltz straight into his home and thinks he can steal a meal from them! Of course, his little brother attacked! Edge was a _fucking_ intruder! _An outsider!_ Why did Stretch even protect this emo fuck? Edge should have been the one bitten, not him! Stretch should have moved aside and let his brother rip Edge to shreds if he had too!

Of course… Stretch didn’t think his innocent baby bro would do that. He seemed seriously apologetic after he bit the wrong target. Sans crawled into a corner and held his legs as if he were traumatized.

Maybe some part of the soul remains after monsters become zombies...

Will Stretch have that part left?

Will Stretch be aware of his surroundings?

Or will he die and be simply a walking corpse without thought?

Maybe, Stretch thinks- trying his best to remain hopeful, he can train his brain to stay aware and awake. Then he only has to wait for a cure and it won't matter how long it takes because he would be dead anyway.

 _He would be dead anyway… Oh, gods_.

He’s going to die. Stretch didn’t want to die. He just got to the surface! There's still so much he hasn’t seen or done with his life! And now, there was no time.

Everything would be gone.

“Whoa. Are you crying?” A heavy hand comes to lay on his head. “It’ll be all right, Asshole, I promise you. We’re going to Mount Ebott, they’ll be some miraculous cure left behind in one of the labs. It will treat your leg and you’ll be fine!”

_Fine? It was not fine!_

There was no guarantee he was going to even make it to Mount Ebott. _Find a cure in those abandoned labs? Yeah right! And whose lab is it anyway? Is it Undyne’s lab? Or Alphy’s lab or Muffets lab… or Gasters… ???_

 _What kind of alternate universe mess was left after the timelines converged on the surface? What was left in Mount Ebott? Had anyone even gone down there to check? Was there even a mountain anymore?_ For all Stretch knew it could have got sucked into a black hole.

The hand petting his skull stops and returns to the front wheel. Edge’s voice comes back, full of concern. “Still in pain? I’ll rob a drugstore next, so sleep until then.”

Stretch didn't want to sleep. With all the shit that's happened, it's likely he wouldn't wake up. Stretch just wanted to cry and it didn't matter if he cried in front of this complete stranger. Stretch can't go back home. His brother was gone and Sans was all he had left in this world.

The tears roll down his face and he doesn't even try to muffle the sob that heaves from his chest. He wants to go home! He wants to have his brother back! He wants to just sit down in front of that tv and watch a ten-hour marathon of that god awful Napstablook because it made Sans happy and he was fine with watching that garbage if he could see his bro smile!

“Just sleep…” The voice lulls him again.

Edge fumbles with the cd tray and finds something to put on in the car. Someone’s recording plays an old song that Stretch doesn’t recognize. It’s a tune from before either of them were born. There is a beautiful piano accompanied by a flute. A woman singer says words in Latin, beautiful tones that last ages. Stretch doesn’t want it to end, it's so peaceful and sweet but to Edge its just noise. He quickly changes it to the radio and surfs through minutes of unpleasant static until he can find some signal. Nearly all the channels are gone. The static grinds at Stretch’s ears and rattles his teeth. Suddenly a station makes its way through the radio waves, a clear audible voice reports in.

“-ardment on the Eastern coast moving West. Military support from Belvast has supplied us with more troops to push back the virus and we are asking for any volunteers to help us hold ground. We cannot cure the disease past stage five. We advise all unaffected citizens to take shelter underground or at your nearest army center. Anyone still in the early stages of the virus should head towards a military camp for immediate treatment. This has been a public announcement from WDGA.1701 FM. We will continue to loop this message for the next twenty hours until we receive more information from our troops. For the next week we will purge the virus from our homes and cities by making an aerial bombardment on the Eastern coast moving West. Military support from Belvast has supplied us with troops to-“

Edge turns off the radio and puts the music back on. “They’re still spreading lies.” He grinds his teeth. His grip tightens on the steering wheel. “They want to exterminate all traces of the virus, they don’t have a cure… they just want to box you all together.” The leather of his gloves crinkle against the leather of the wheel. “Now they’re just wiping the slate clean by blowing up the country.”

Stretch feels faint again, he tries his best to fight it. He takes a look at the time on the dashboard and the glowing green numbers that read 2:14 am. The dashboard itself is dusty and the car looked and smelled like Edge had stolen it from a grandfather but you couldn’t tell from the way the engine purred. It’s a smooth ride and the road feels soft. There were hardly any bumps under the tires.

Stretch is bored driving on the long expanse of road. He tries to keep himself busy, tries to stay conscious during the drive and finds that he wears a collar he didn't have on before. It's not tight, or a bright offending color… it's just a simple grey worn collar. Something probably swiped from a dead dog off the road. But why it's on him? Stretch had no idea. He didn't think much about it either until much later.

Edge reaches out and touches Stretch’s head again, stroking his skull as if Stretch were a pet. Stretch wonder if he is. He’s bound after all, because of the disease. Stretch should have been dead weight, easy Lv for someone who wanted to dust him before the virus took full effect. Stretch should have been left behind at the very least.

He wonders if the monster is humoring him. What is the point in dragging him along like this? Company? That's all. Stretch is a pet to him. A temporary pet that Edge can play with until he's dead. He said it himself, Stretch is the first alive he’s seen in weeks.

Stretch tilts his head to look at the other, he wonders what kind of expression the skeleton is making. Dawn is approaching and the wide shadows of night become lightened and easier to read. Stretch stares at the others face, so similar, to see any slight reaction.

“Edge, am I... your pet?” Stretch asks him tiredly. He wonders if he’ll get a straight answer.

“What?” Edge’s face scrunches up. Stretch wonders if it's confusion, indignation, or maybe the jerk had to go poo. He doesn’t get another answer after that so Stretch repeats the question but everything gets dark. The shadows in the car darken and soon Edge’s face fades. Stretch flicks his eyes around to get a look at the clock… but instead all he can see are darkened slender tendrils of branches.

The branches snake around, dead and lifeless. The bark is darkened like char. _Is this… a tree?_ How did Stretch get up in a tree? There’s something around his waist, a hand? Stretch follows the path towards an arm and a shoulder and a face. _A sleeping face._

They were camping out in the trees.

Perhaps this was safer than the road to sleep but… it's pretty high up. Stretch knows that he would have rolled out and fallen the twenty feet to the ground, if not for Edge holding his side but he can’t help the sudden panic that sweeps through him. Now he certainly was not afraid of heights but any monster would not be fond of being this high up. Stretch scoots a little closer towards the center of the tree limb, he’s careful of bumping his ankle and having the pain radiate through his leg. Behind him, soft snores pass his vertebrae and he wonders how the Edgy bastard can sleep so well ...not knowing when Stretch might wake up dead.

_Wake up dead…. Was that even possible? That's some quantum shit…_

Edge is sound asleep, his head is rolled back and he’s resting on the trunk of the tree. He breathes softly out his mouth. A small stream of mist follows. It’s getting colder. They should brace themselves, winter is coming. Stretch wondered briefly if winter will be bad this year. Last year the snow had piled up to four feet high and when his little brother stepped outside he sunk immediately. Stretch had to dig him out, all the while laughing. Snow was a lot thicker here... He should probably get his jacket and a shovel and salt and-. _Oh, right._ It's not his problem. He was nearly dead. Stretch lays his head back down on top of Edge and stares at the sky through the barren treetop.

Everything’s dead. The plants have shriveled up and died, something in their cell chemistry just triggered suffocation. Like the food, vegetation just rotted. It probably wasn’t because of the same virus. This was something airborne, different from the plague on the surface. Maybe it was a result of it… a new strain of bacteria that kept adapting. Stretch wonders if it's safe to breathe at this point. Not that he can stop.

Past the haze of branches and the clouds, there are stars above them. They’re beautiful. Tiny and insignificant, much like himself. He had spent so long dreaming of what stars were like… He had books that were full of star maps and constellations. He had spent many times with Sans just sitting on the front lawn and watching the stars till morning.

_What is he to the world? Did he serve a purpose? Would he die in his sleep?_

Stretch can only imagine the horror Edge would see when he wakes up and finds out that Stretch dead. Or rather… undead...

He tries not to sleep.

Stretch stares out at the sky and watches the stars fade away. Sunlight rolls in and Stretch hears the first song of a bird.

_There are birds._

Stretch smiles softly, glad some things survived. His body feels cold and numb on one side but it's also warm next to Edge. Edge doesn’t wake for a few more hours.

Stretch realizes he had been staring at him this whole time. His mind had been blank, Stretch hadn’t been thinking of anything at all. He was just fascinated by the other skeleton. As Edgy starts to wake Stretch pries his head away. He looks down, trying to hide the fact that he had been staring.

_Would it really be possible for them to make it to Mount Ebott? Could they can reach a cure before his time runs out?_

Oddly enough, he feels fine today. His teeth don’t hurt, his bones aren’t shaking, and there is no chill or heat or ache in his chest that causes pain. It’s a chilly morning. His body feels a bit numb but it's different than the complete numbness Stretch felt before. He can still feel the tips of his fingers and wriggle his toes.

“You’re awake?” A heavy hand lands on his head. Edge yawns tiredly. “You can't keep fainting like that, Asshole. I got scared you know.” It's not like Stretch had much of a warning himself. As if blacking out was a choice … heh. Anyway the weight of the hand bears heavily on his skull. The hand, it's warm. Stretch finds himself leaning into the touch slightly. Stretch breathes a sigh, not bothering to correct the other on the name choice ‘Asshole’. He didn't exactly have a right to complain anyhow. It wouldn't matter in a few hours if he just died.

“There are birds.” Edge huffs. “I wonder if they’re safe to eat.”

“Maybe...” Stretch sighs, Edge apparently did not have an appreciation for nature...or music. “The birds started singing earlier, they rose with the sun. I think that’s pretty normal. Healthy behavior. How would you even catch them?”

“Hmph. It's a bird, not a monster. Shooting it out of the sky will be easier than hitting a whimsun. It won't even fight back.” He yawns again. “I’m hungry. You too right? It must have been… two… three weeks without real meat.” He shuffles a bit, shaking the tree branch. He looks over the branch and at the car parked at the base of the tree. Nothing is there. That’s good. It was a good idea to climb this tree to sleep, but it seemed pointless now seeing as how nothing was following them. “Sunrise, hmm? You’ve been up that long?” Stretch nodded his head.

“I’m afraid that if I sleep...I won't wake up again. I keep fainting and I don’t like it.” Stretch leans backward on the other monster since he can't balance well with his hands tied. Edge doesn’t mind. He puts a hand on his skull and starts to pet him again. Stretch closes his eyes, relishing the touch… he tries to imagine home. He tries to image a peace before this mess. The timber of Edges voice grazes his ear. Warm like honey and his words dip in and out of darker topics with a sense of glee.

“Well, if you don’t wake up. You won't remember not waking up… so there's nothing to fear. It will just… _end_. You won't be in any pain. Stage four will make you lose your memories… there won't be anything painful for you to miss. And then stage five… your soul will just … stop. It won't be painful. Promise.” His tone seems pretty confident, Stretch wonders if it's because he’s seen this up close before too. Oh… that reminds him. Didn't this Papyrus have a brother? Was he also dead? Edge changes his tune now, faking a smile as he tries to be positive. “But don’t worry!” He chirps happily. “We will find a cure before then.”

“Yeah…” Stretch sighs. His vision blurs together as he gazes out towards the dead trees and the copper sky. The world seems to be dead. There isn’t really any hope left for him.

“Well, let's go now.” Edge says. With a grunt, he stands up on the branch and jumps down to the next. The tree shakes and Stretch wraps himself horizontally against the tree. His legs and arms dangle over. Edge climbs down expertly. As he reaches the ground he holds out his hands and tells Stretch to jump.

“Fuck that!” Stretch yells towards him. His ankle is hurt bad, and he can't imagine walking. Jumping twenty feet out of a tree was not possible. His hands are tied together with duct tape, so Stretch can't climb down even if he knew how.

“C’mon scaredy bones, jump.”Edge scowls a bit, his look becoming stern and he kicks the tree to project his anger. It jostles slightly from the bottom and becomes violent towards the top. Stretch only clings harder to the branch.

Eventually, Edge gives in and climbs back up for him, carries Stretch down and the two sit in the car in silence and drive. They drive for hours. Stretch’s eyes get dizzy from staring out the car window. He feels powerless like this. All he’s good at like this is staring. That's all he ever does. He leans his head against the glass and watches the trees and cars flit by on the side of the road.

Hours pass.


	3. Bonds we Share

The roads become thinner and after hours of driving the car finally pulls into a small trailer trash housing off the side of the road. Edge says it’s a good place to quickly add to his level. With a wicked smile, he parks the car and grabs a baseball bat from the trunk.

He could easily form a stronger weapon with his magic but he’s bored out of his mind from driving for hours and he's looking for a challenger.

In the shadows of sunset, Stretch watches him for the slightest movement. His sight is limited from the safety of the car but he spots a few disfigured creatures emerging from their makeshift nests. Most appear to be human. The ones that haven’t eaten in a long time have their limbs rotting from their still moving corpse. The flesh hangs off of them the way a model would wear a fur coat. Their mumblings and raspy groans are loud enough to hear from the inside of the vehicle. As they gather and groan they only attract more undead with their sound.

Edge steels himself. He grinds his heel into the ground and relaxes his shoulders into a natural stance to fight. To him, it’s second nature. Though the weapon is not something he would favor in battle it looks like he enjoys the handicap.

Stretch watches in a daze. He never thought he would be so captivated by the sight of a monster murdering others. Guts and blood fly across the windshield in a glorious rain. It obscures his view and sickens him to his core… but for the brief glimpses he can see through the streaked window he is mesmerized by the arch of Edges attack. The force of his swing is gleeful, and etched into his hollow eyes is a dark look of satisfaction.

_He looks like he’s having fun._

~-~-~-~

They drive for hours.

They drive for days.

Edge is gone.

Often he leaves. Sometimes he leaves Stretch to clear an area. Sometimes he leaves Stretch to scavenge for food. But this time he hasn't come back.

The disease spreads slowly through Stretch’s body. He never expected to live this long but now he just worries about how much longer he will be in this horrible agony between life and death.

He’s running a fever. His body feels hot but will constantly breaking out in cold sweats. Stretch had stopped having frequent blackouts but now his body was well into stage three again. An endless loop between stages… refusing to grant him the mercy of a quick death.

Stretch sat alone in the basement of someone’s house. Edge left him there, since it was safe. Then Edge left to do something rather mundane… like killing or stealing. It didn’t matter. Edge hadn’t come back and Stretch hadn’t moved from his spot in two days. He can’t leave even if he tried. His ankle has swollen to twice its size. The bone looks warped and the white of bone is bruised purple and pink. After replacing the gauze and treating the wound with various ointments and medications- stolen, he’s found fractures around the original bite indent. Cracks- spreading. Putting weight on the foot would be a bad idea, he might shatter the fragile bone right now. So he refrains from walking.

Blankets and pillows are strewn about the floor. That is where he has slept.

Sleep is all he does. Edge left him alone, saying he’ll be back in an hour. No sign of him.

_Wonder if he’s dead._

Stretch crawls from one end of the blanket to the other, waking to eat, and then he will sleep back under the covers. He can’t tell if hours or days have passed. He wakes to the insane heat bubbling at his throat and swelling his chest. He shivers into himself and wraps the blankets up over his head to stay warm. Edge told him to bundle up and sweat out the virus. As if such a horrid disease could be treated like the common cold. There was no way he could just slurp chicken soup and feel better.

He wondered how his body was even fighting the virus without a single white blood cell or antibody in his nonexistent veins but he tries not to question it. He didn’t know much about monster physiology and he didn’t want to waste the last of his time to study up on it.

Wielding a dim flashlight Stretch anxiously keeps away the shadows of the basement. Scared for his life at every sound. Stretch slept too often, Stretch ate too little. When nature called Stretch would have to drag himself up the stairs, limping the whole way. There’s running water still, but the electric has long since stopped working. Sometimes the lights flicker on and off and that makes Stretch only more cautious of every shadow.

He is wary of the house upstairs. The dark basement seems safer than the sunlit house. The glass windows upstairs were fragile and Stretch could never know what had crawled its way inside during the hours he slept. He could summon a bone or, if he felt up to it, a blaster but it left him feeling drained and worse off than just suffering through this awful virus. Sometimes he thinks it would be better just to quickly get it over with.

_If an infected creature gets in the house… maybe he shouldn't even fight back._

Stretch reclines back onto his kingdom of pillows and wraps himself in mounds of blankets. _It’s hot._ It’s always too hot. When Stretch wakes up he finds himself drenched in sweat and he tries to roll over to a cool side of the bed and sleep it off again. There was nothing to do but he wasn’t going to even try to stay awake. Sleep made the pain go away and he tried to stay in that lul of dreams and nightmares for however long he could.

“-climbing up the mountain.”

_Someone’s voice? Oh. It's Edge. Is he back?_

“That lost sheep was me.” It was a lullaby. Even though he wants to see Edge, his eyes feel empty. He opens his eye sockets but can’t focus on anything in particular. Eye lights don’t manifest. He drifts in and out of consciousness, the haunting melody plays even inside his dreams. Fingers stroke his skull, loving and warm. Stretch smiles glad the other is back. The days alone had been… well, _lonely_. Somewhere between being awake and snoozing off, he starts to hum along to the song.

“I had walked so far away from my home. When I fell asleep. A lost sheep was coming up the mountain. That lost sheep was me.”

“Edge?” Stretch whispers or maybe he hums it into the air. He tries to force himself to stay awake now. His eye lights return the tiny white dots peer outward into the dim basement light and search for the other. On his stomach, swaddled in a mountain of blankets all Stretch can see is the pillow in front of him. The hand petting his skull stops and Stretch tries to sit up to look at the monster sitting beside him.

He whispers back. “Have you been okay? You're sweaty… still in stage three?” Stretch nods his head. “Nyh… sleeping all day, all sweaty...you remind me of some asshole I know.” Edge picks up one of Stretch’s arms and helps him to sit up.

“Let’s take a bath okay?” Stretch stares out at the spot Edge should be. Even though his vision is a little blurry at first but he can still take in the filth on his friends clothes and the smell of earth and the rot of the dead on Edgy. There is blood on Edge’s shirt collar and on his dark gloves. His clothing is covered in dirt like it was natural for him to have been out swimming in the runoff. Now not a spec of the shirts normal color is visible and its hardened dry like a clay mold.

“You’re a fucking mess.” Stretch stirs more and more awake. Talking was helping. “Looks like you _mud_ dled things up badly.” Edge lends him his back, pulling tied hands over his neck to carry the other upstairs.

“I got lost on the way back.”

“That's fine Edgy, it's just… when I asked for something freshly _ground_ I thought you’d bring coffee.”

“What?”

“You know… I think it's pretty neat to see you covered in dirt. I really _dig_ it.”

“... You’re making puns aren’t you.”

“Nooo. No, I’m not… just. Wait.”

They stop at the base of the stairs, Stretch leans his head on the other and slumps forward to get a better grip. A low sigh escapes from his mouth, feeling as though he is about to fall. Edge looks over his shoulder. “You okay? Something wrong?”

“I don't want to go upstairs.”

“... It's fine, Dumbass. I checked the house when I came down, nothing is up there.”

“I know… but I don't trust those stairs. They’re always _up to something_.”

“...”

“ …”

“Don’t make me drop you.”

~-~-~-~

They go upstairs, towards the bathroom where Stretch is sluggishly droped onto the floor. Edge begins to fill a bucket with water. Though the houses still seem to have plumbing, it is a mystery how long it will last.

Then he rifles the shelves for an emergency kit. He finds one with ease, labeled with a giant red plus that humans mark their hospitals with. From its contents, he pulls out gauze, scissors, a needle and thread, and alcohol wipes that are so old the inked words on the packaging have been worn out.

Stretch can't wait to get free from this duct tape prison. He wriggles his hands together, trying to chafe off the glue stuck to his wrists. Though the tape was wound loose, his wrists are starting to hurt. He wonders how much longer he has to live. His body has been stuck in stage three for a while now. The fever has spread everywhere. Stretch feels swollen and numb and sick as a slug.

“Kay, get in.” Edge moves aside and points to the tub with his thumb. It looks like he’s hitchhiking for a ride, Stretch would laugh if not for the serious look on Edge’s face. Instead, looking over the bath fills him with a new sense of dread.

“With you still here?” Stretch raises a brow bone but his question is quickly dismissed.

“Were both guys, we’re both a Papyrus. You think I’m going to let you run around freely? You're infected. The last thing I need is for you to get out your bath all spic and span and try to bite through my tibia. Though, I mean, I’d kill you first. You’re pretty pathetic, just crawling on the ground like a worm.”

_Good point…_ Stretch guessed, and sourly accepts that fact.

He glances at the scissors in Edges hand. He had hoped they were there to free him from this duct tape makeshift handcuffs. Instead, Edge uses them to cut up each side of the sweatshirt Stretch still wore, preferring to destroy the clothes than untie his willing prisoner. The coolness in the room touches his bones and alleviates the heat for a moment. The sweat that has beaded under his shirt sends tingles up his spine as Edge snips away at the clothes, pulling and exposing the layers to the room.

Gloved phalanges gently move Stretch, the touch lingers on his shoulder and helps to guide him into the tub. Stretch sits on the bottom of the bath, shying away as he tries to shuffle off his pants. Edge is close to him now, so close that the scent of mud and earth becomes distinguishable. Edgy smells like the damp of water from the gutters. He smells like the salt of sweat, the milky chalk of bones, and the dew of dying trees.

Stretch tears his head away from the smell. He knows he is blushing madly right now, not just because of his apparent unraveling nakedness but because now he is so much more aware of Edge. He hasn’t seen him in days and now he can’t help but follow every acute movement he makes.

A twinge of pain runs up his leg as Edge moves to unravel the gauze from his bleeding ankle. Stretch tries his best not to whine at the sharp sensation. He feels the tickle of magic rushing through his chest and into his cheeks, which gets worse when Edge helps him to pull off his cargo pants. He gulps dryly, looking away any other direction from Edge to hide his embarrassment. He palms his pubis arch, trying to keep even a little of his dignity.

A rag is brought up to his face first, moving in small circles along his jaw. Just to dampen the dirt caked on him. The sponge lathers up in soap and approaches his eyes. Stretch closes them tightly in response but even still the cloth is gentle and Edge’s hands are slow. The cloth drags across his cheeks, stretches out towards the back of his neck. Rubbing and massaging the suds deep into the curves of his face.

The water is cool which felt nice on his heated bones. Despite the relief Stretch can’t find himself settled, not when another man is touching him.

The rag is lowered, wrung out down the drain and soaks up clean water from the bucket. Then the torment begins again.

Slow.

Careful.

Tedious.

The rag traces the same path. This time it rolls over his clavicle. It lingers for a while, meticulously scrubbing in small circles between the wedges of bone.

Stretch is perfectly capable of bathing himself but it doesn’t seem like Edge will let him. So at every touch Stretch feels the intimate rub of the others gloved hands and he can’t help but start to feel excited. He closes his eyes and starts to count upwards to one hundred. Trying to pass the time by thinking of something else but it doesn’t help because now that his eyes are closed he feels every feather-light caress on his bones. The traces of soap start to move down now. Hands slowly scrub his vertebrae in circles and snake around his collarbone. Edge pushes at his shoulder, noting he wants him to turn.

Stretch does so quietly, turning his back towards him and listens to the water slosh around in silence. He stares at the tiling of the tub, glad to be facing away from the other monster. The cloth moistens his skin, dips into the crevices of his ribs and slowly Stretch begins to feel the dirt lift off his bones.

It feels strange to be lying bare in front of the other. He reminds himself the anatomy is no different but the lower the sponge travels the more anxious Stretch becomes. To ward away this awkward feeling in his chest, Stretch tries to come up with a bit of conversation.

“Earlier…” He starts. “Thanks for carrying me.”

“Not like I’m going to leave you behind. You’re still alive… until you’re not.”

“…”

“I’ve seen a lot of monsters die… a lot of friends. I won't give up on you. We’ll definitely find a cure.”

“Thanks.” He can’t think of anything else to say. The words don't feel sincere as they leave his mouth. He knows it's impossible to find a cure. It's a miracle he’s even stayed alive this long to begin with. The entire state has been abandoned… maybe even the country. It’s hard to tell, there are so few radio stations anymore. The one they did find mentioned aerial bombs being set off over the week. Even if there was a cure… escaping from the country in such a short time seemed impossible. He was resigned to die.

His fever feels like it’s gone now, instead, his teeth chatter with the cold water that pours over him. Stretch closes his eyes tightly, he summons his tongue only to bite down on something. Above him, he feels the steam of water trickle over each bone. It seeps into his spine, sending shivers across his ribcage.

Edge scrubs up his arms and up legs. Like a ragdoll, Stretch moves to his form, bending when he lifts each limb. When his iliac crest is gripped he tightens his teeth and nearly squeals. Edge scrubs clean his bones, quickly enough. The cold water washes over him again, rinsing off the dirt and ash and dust and sweat and salt…

He shivers in the bathtub, his bound hands can’t even grip his shoulders for warmth so he curls inwardly. It is a strange feeling that overcomes him. His skull feels swollen on the inside but his forehead feels cool. Water drips from him and makes his toes curl as a single droplet slides down his spine. It feels like he is burning from the inside out and yet shivering. A warm blanket wraps around his shoulders. It's a comforter from a bedroom, wool that was soft and bright blue like his brother. The color brings him a bit of happiness as he snuggles into the material. It still smells of lavender, even though it must have been washed over a month ago.

“Watch your step. I don’t want you to reopen that nasty bite wound.” Edge helps him out of the tub and sits him down on top of the toilet seat. Stretch looks at the turtleneck the other is holding up for him and is sickened by the thick fabric. Stretch can't decide between the heat or the cold.

Edge kneels by his foot and makes a small comment about ‘the wound healing well’ as if it made any difference whether the wound would heal or not. Stretch was going to die anyhow… the whole damn leg could come off and it wouldn't make a world of difference.

That short sighted care and positive attitude in the bleak of death reminded him of his own little brother. Sans was the type to always try to smile through the worst of things. It makes him wonder what kind of man Edge was before the outbreak and if he would have been good friends in another world. Edge was always careful and caring and kind-hearted… but Stretch knows that sometimes there is a darkness in his eyes that he can't place.

…Something from his Underfell home world that seems to have followed him. His past haunts him. He’s mentioned the loss of friends… and seeing as how he is traveling alone… he has probably lost his family as well.

Edge finished wrapping up the wounded ankle and cuts open the shirt to sew it back onto Stretch’s frame. It seems pointless to do such a thing. He could have easily cut through his bonds and freed Stretch for the few seconds it would take to pull the sweater over his head, but Edge doesn’t want to risk that. Sourly, Stretch swallows up his protest and waits as the other finishes sewing.

Carrying him too and fro- sewing clothes onto his figure with meticulous fingers and handing out half of his food rations to share. Kindness… yet his eyes are dark most the time… lost. Sad.

Stretch wonders if that’s why Edge left for so long.

Did Edgy purposely leave him? Did Edge abandon him because he knew Stretch would turn into one of _them_ \- the undead?

Is it painful to watch the last living person he knows slowly die?

Stretch doesn’t know how to feel about that anymore. He watched his own little brother die in his arms. He watched as Sans forgot who he was, and started to die. Did he feel anything then?

He saw his neighbors and friends die. And he dragged their mauled bodies inside for Sans. Death has been riding his shoulders for what feels like weeks. Since this virus outbreak a month ago… Death became a common thing. It’s like rain… and Stretch didn’t know how to feel about his own death.

He wanted to live, of course. He wanted to stay alive… he _wanted_ to live!! But. … If he died, it wouldn’t make a lick of difference. He just hopes it’s painless. Stretch had no clue how long it's been between the blackouts and the fever. To him, everything is just a jumble of time… and then one day it will all stop. Along with his soul. 

Stretch looks out at Edge again and wonders if the skeleton is going to pull another disappearing act in the future. Maybe Edge will just leave one day…

How can he want to stay with someone who feels ‘meh’ about death? Stretch wasn’t enthusiastic about living or dying… he was pretty sure a cure would never happen.

Edge must be going through a plethora of emotions, though he never shows it. Whenever he speaks he tries not to let that negativity befall his face. Edge has been oddly positive for a monster from Underfell. Perhaps he has always been this way. In a world without titles or strangers judging his every move he can be himself… Or perhaps it's not him. Perhaps he only puts on this sickly sweet smile so that Stretch won't be panicked in his presence.

Theorizing didn’t do much for Stretch. He was rattling his brain around for answers that weren’t his own to give. He _had to know_ why Edge left. _Was it because he didn't care? Was it because he didn't want to watch him die? Was Edge only acting nice? Was Stretch only a pet?_

He palms his neck… only realizing now the dog collar was gone. He doesn't remember when it had been taken off of him, but he doesn't see it in his crumpled pile of clothes. Stretch calls for the other softly Edge is finishing the stitches on his sleeve now. He’s not the best tailor but the clothes are a comfort for now, to bare against the cold on his bones. When Edge hums in his throat to take notice, Stretch begins, steadying himself for an answer.

“Did you leave because I’m dying?” Edge stops. Knotting the end of string, he places it back inside the medical kit and reaches for a pair of sweatpants. “You don't have to stay here. You don't have to pretend it's going to be okay. I know there's no cure… I’ve already accepted I’m going to die. I’m okay with that Edge, you don't have to keep preten-”

“Shut up.” He reaches for his foot and slips it into one of the pant legs. “I want to save you. Me. I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for me. Just me. That’s selfish. I know, but I won't let you die. Even if you beg for death. … I’ve seen too many people die… I don't want to be alone again.”

“Even if you say that. …There’s no telling how much time I have left. Can’t exactly choose when I bite the dust. ”

“I know.” He whispers.

It’s been bothering him for a while now but Stretch finally recognizes why he’s doing this. Why he’s taking care of him. More than being alone, or finding a cure… Stretch reminded him of a family member he’s lost. It's in his eyes. They shine with the same gloss that his own do when he remembers Sans.

From the way Edge talks and the way Edge treats him with such care -even though he’s a stranger- Stretch wonders if he is anything like Edge’s brother. If he was just a replacement for an Underfell Sans, Stretch wouldn’t blame him. 

Being alone… was _hard_. Any company… _imaginary or no_ t, was _good_ company.

For the month he lived in his home since the virus began… Stretch felt like he was going a little crazy. There was no one to talk too. Nothing to do. He had begun to hear his brother in those dark days.

He thought for sure his little brother was _speaking_ to him even though he had been undead for a month.

If it wasn’t for Edge, Stretch would still be in that house… pretending his little brother was alive. Stretch would have continued down the path of madness. Stretch would have gotten himself killed and... eaten.

He would have died either way but with Edge Stretch at least gets to be with another living being in his last few days. So his heartbeat, the quake of his soul, is important. It means he’s alive. One day, his own soul will stop beating… it could be soon.

Projecting family onto other people -especially in a crisis- was normal. Right? Edgy reminded him a lot of his own little brother. The way he tries to stay positive even through the worst of times, was familiar.

If Edge saw his own brother – his own parallel Sans bro- in Stretch, what would he be like?

“Does your brother talk like me?” Stretch wanted to know, even if that was a little bold of him. Edge seems to choke up at first. The question out of the blue takes him by surprise.

He looks away as he responds. “Sort of.” He shrugs off the conversation, crestfallen. His dark eyes recede into the pits of his skull. Stretch feels guilty for touching on such a tough subject. He wasn’t traveling with his Sans… he must be dead. And talking about the dead was pointless, it only opened old wounds… wounds that would never heal. So Stretch doesn’t ask anymore.

~-~-~-~

Edge took his own bath next, keeping his friend sat close by to watch for any changes. The slosh of water and scrubbing is louder – more abrasive- than it had been when Edgy bathed him. He was determined to scrub off the blood and mud and check his palms and knees for any small abrasions. Even a small scratch could prove fatal.

Stretch didn’t mind it. He also didn’t want to look, so he found himself turned towards the bathroom door. He muses out loud that the bathroom is kind of nice. It feels cool on his damp skin. Cute rubber ducky’s line the sink. As well as four toothbrushes… a family lived here once.

The room itself has one window that doesn’t open but allows for a little bit of sunlight to wash over the room. The tiles on the floor are clean, maintained by their previous owners. Hardly any grime lingers on the floor, save for the corners which contain both long strands of hair and a spider that has made its home here.

Fingers suddenly appear in front of his face, snapping to get attention. Stretch blinked once, twice, focusing his eyes on the other. Edge sighs, a relief coming across his face. “I thought you were gone for a minute there.” He laughs sarcastically playing off whatever fear he must have felt in those few seconds.

“Are you afraid of me? “ Stretch asks him softly. “Even if I do turn into one of them… I’m tied up and I can’t walk. Like you said, I’m practically a worm. You’ll have a great head start.”

“How is your ankle by the way...?” He changes the topic. “Do you think you’ll be able to walk soon?”

Stretch shakes his head. Pain still runs up his spine when he leans his full weight on that ankle. Stretch might be able to hobble a few steps, but it might start bleeding again. Having blood exposed would be bad. Right now his injury is air drying- the scab needs time to heal.

“The bombings have begun to the north. ” Edge says slowly. “We have to make it to Tara before it reaches us. There are lots of bomb shelters there. On the radio, they say that there are still survivors waiting to be rescued. There are calls every day from some family still trapped there. Seems the military can't get to them… too many undead surround the area. But it would be better to be trapped underground than to be in the line of fire. I don’t want to be here when the bombings start.”

“Yeah…” Stretch agrees quietly with him. He doesn’t know why exactly. It just seems like words to fill in the silence. Water sloshes again. The scrub of soap and splash are music that fill the room.

“I checked the kitchen earlier… but it was ransacked clean. How much food do we have left?”

“I ate two cans when you were gone.” Stretch thinks out loud. “I think we have about twenty cans left and eight microwave packs. Two jars of peanut butter… and some granola?”

“You only ate two? Aren’t you hungry? You should eat more.” He says that now, but there isn’t any other food they can get once their supply runs out. It was a miracle Stretch was able to save it.

Edge stands up from the tub, naked bone glistening clean. Stretch crooned his head and looked away sheepishly. The skeleton quickly dries himself and clads the pale bone in dark colors he’d found left from previous residents. He picked out a black shirt and jeans that were his style. Skinny legged and wide waist- he has to use a belt to keep them on his frame. The shirt reads of a band the humans praised, or maybe it was some sort of pun on battery output. He keeps his gloves and boots of course. The red pair have been drying in the sink- but are still wet when he slides his hands and toes into the rubber.

Satisfied with this level of clean, he bends to take care of the final piece of the puzzle. Redressing- the dressings.

Edge was careful with the bandages. He makes sure to wrap the gauze tightly. One drop of blood is all it takes to start the virus. And the smell of it attracts those creatures outside. Edge doesn’t think he has any open cuts or something like that, but he still takes precaution with the injury. He asks Stretch to hold his finger in place while he ties it and doesn’t take off his gloves while he’s dressing the wound.

It’s tighter than Stretch likes- but he doesn’t complain over something so trivial. Pressure was good to keep on the injury.

Just like that- the two of them are cleaned up. Edge stands up and pulls Stretch’s bound arms over his head, carrying the Swap skeleton on his back. They leave the bathroom behind and he heads downstairs, back to the encampment of pillows, blankets and that dull flashlight.

Stretch lays his head on the other skeletons back as he is carried downstairs. His heart is steady, quiet, gentle. It goes thump making his ears quake. The sound seems so loud, so strong. Edge is cold, he feels cool against his aching skull.

He lets Stretch down on the pile of pillows that have been thrown on the floor and slip his arms over his head, letting him go. Stretch doesn’t want too, not at first, but as Stretch sits on the soft pillows he becomes tired.

Reaching for their food supplies, Edge offers a can to him. “You need to eat.”

“I’m okay.” Stretch tells him honestly. “I don’t feel very hungry… I feel like if I eat I’ll just get sick. I don’t want to waste food like that. Have you eaten Edgy? You were gone for a really long time…”

Edge is probably hungry. He’s had nothing to eat while he was on his journey. He left the provisions here with Stretch when he left.

“I…” He stops speaking. Whether that’s because he is catching himself in a lie before he speaks or if he just has no answer, he doesn’t say much else. Stretch feels if he asks him again he’ll just give a roundabout answer.

As for stretch, his body is used to doing nothing but sweat and sleep now. The fluffy pillows seem inviting to sleep on again. He tries to do anything he can to stay awake. He tries to reflect on his short life. It would be a useful exercise… since he still can’t remember if he’s forgotten anything. That’s scary.

Stretch could be in stage four and not know it…

Names of people he once knew, surface in his mind. His father, Gaster, his little brother, Sans, his best friend Undyne and her girlfriend Alphys head of the royal guard. He tries to recall Muffets diner, where he would stop by for a sweet snack and end up wasting the day by playing cards with the guardsmen or laughing it up with Muffet. He remembers the king and queen, the scarecrow and mouse neighbors they had. The bear that brought them presents, the store vendors who smiled so warmly at Papyrus and his brother….before he knows it saying their names is like counting sheep. Stretch leans back on the pillows, letting the feeling envelop him.

He hardly hears what Edge says. The other skeleton rubs at his head. Tells him he’s going upstairs. Then says something… something like ‘I’m leaving’. Those dreaded words Stretch knew would come up again, but right now he’s too tired to process it. Edge pulls a heavy blanket over Stretch, wrapping him in warmth from his toes all the way up to his neck. He kisses his forehead and promises everything will be okay.

He hears his stomach gurgle.


	4. Caught Red Handed

When Stretch wakes up he finds he has been moved again. Its not much of a surprise at this point. He blinks slowly, getting used to his new surroundings. Even though he’s been sleeping for ages he never feels rested. His body feels stiff and his neck hurts. This place seems to be the back of a pickup truck. It's been modified though, the whole trunk is encased in what looks like glass for window panes. Its not likely bullet proof and its poorly constructed, but it will keep the undead from clawin at them. Stretch could touch the roof if Stretch were sitting on his knees.

There is a metal door drilled into one end, that’s how you get in and out. There’s another metal door that connects to the main car. Stretch looks through the small window spotting the driver and an empty seat. He pulls the door open but its locked. Stretch cant get to the front of the car. So he waits, sitting with his back against the glass. Outside trees surround them, parked in the middle of a forest. 

Through the glass roof, hundreds of dead tree crowd together. The sky is still bright, but the eerie bare trees make it appear much darker. This may have been a forest at one time, now its only a graveyard. “Edge?” Stretch calls for him from beyond the car door. The radio isn’t on, so Stretch knows the other can hear him. He wanted Edge to know he was awake now. It must have been hard for him to build this rig in the trunk and carry his unconscious self here.

Slowly, the driver turns back to look at Stretch, a smile is plastered on his face. It’s not Edge. His teeth look sharp, a custom job done by some freak dentist. All his teeth look like fangs. His smile isn’t friendly at all and when he greets him Stretch feels the need to run.

“Morning, sexy.” His eyes glint at the backseat. Stretch back away slowly. “I didn’t realize you were awake, I was just studying the map here.” He gets up from his chair and unlocks the door between them “Now we can begin the fun. I’ve been aching to eat you up.” Stretch scrambles backwards to the other side of the trunk. He tries the door, but it’s also locked. Fuck. 

The skeleton is shorter than him, but still a menacing figure. He wears a heavy bulk jacket on top of a sweater. The lining of both are marked with black feathers that swoop around the crown of his skull where a giant crack runs through an eye. His eyes are red. Blood red, magic buzzes through both and hums in the air as if it were a threat. He can practically feel the mal intentions emanating from the other. It's even worse as that smile spreads across his teeth and he takes another step forward. The monster crouches slightly, his head touching the glass ceiling, it pushes down his ridiculous feathered hood and only highlights the fractures in his skull. Stretch cowers to a corner, unable to escape. The only open way is the door this monster has just emerged from. Which he closes and sits in front of; blocking the only exit and he knows it.

“What do you want! Where’s Edge?”

“Oh, were you traveling with someone?” He laughs. “Looks like they abandoned you. Just obey me and do as I say. I only want a little bite, you’ll play with me right, babe ? Your pretty cute. Why don’t you come on over here so I can eat you. I’m starving, love.” He pats his lap, beckoning Stretch to sit in his lap. “If you come here, I promise I won't get too rough. I won't even kill you, maybe I’ll keep you around to eat you up slowly. Tick Tock.” He sing songs his words, clearly amused in something horrifying. 

Stretch gulps down bile. He’s not sure what to make of this monster. On the radio Stretch had heard situations where the food shortage has made some people turn to cannibalism, it's madness… a sickness.

Honestly, he was all bone right? Ha, would the other even want to eat him? But that monster is a skeleton too. Maybe he didn't mind. He holds his arms close to him now, he’s hyper aware of the other monsters eyes as they linger lower on his body. The other is scanning him, imagining all the places he can sink his sharp teeth into. He feels his status being checked but rather than back away out of repulsion of the single digit health point the other only smirk wider. 

“Come on, love… I’ll make you feel real good before my dinner.” His teeth open wide and a tongue manifests itself, licking at his lips as he openly stares at the other. He pats his lap again, practically bragging over his control on the situation. “Tick tock, tick tock…” Stretch tries the door again. Locked. He doubted he could break through the glass and there was no way he would come over to the other monster. He tries to rationalise this instead. 

“You’re a cannibal aren't’ you.” Stretch backs away into a corner of the truck. The other doesn't respond, but throws a wink his direction and beckons him over with a curled finger. “Well you don't have to eat monsters or humans. I have food. Real food in my backpack! You can have all of it!” The other monster shakes his head, a gold tooth glints from his carnal smile.

“Backpack? I didn’t bring any of your stuff along for our little trip. Besides, its been awhile since I’ve had a cutie like you to eat. You’re already tied up and you're all clean for me too. It's just too good to be true. Ah~ time's up. If you won’t come here... I’ll go to you.” He crawls towards him, creeping like a lion stalking its prey. His back is towards the door. Stretch could crawl towards it but the trunk is narrow. The monster could probably pin him down before Stretch even manages to lay a hand on the door. No choice left. He tried negotiating. He worked out his options to run away… he had to fight. 

He wrings his hands together quickly, trying to loosen the duct tape on his wrists. If Stretch can just land one punch, maybe he can flee. 

Flee where? 

Stretch cant run. Stretch can hardly crawl.

The monster comes close to him, close enough that Stretch can attack him. Stretch does so, throwing a two handed punch near his face. If this were funny it would look like Stretch was in a dragon ball Z parody but now only panic swells in his chest. The hit barely bothers the monster, instead he looks ticked off. He grabs the duct taped wrists curtly and pins them over Stretch’s head. He’s stronger than him, or maybe Stretch is just weak.

Stretch kicks his legs out but the attack backfires on him, sending a piercing ache up his spine. The bite wound opened again, he looks down at the gauze, seeing spots of blood. In a calming voice his captor whispers to him. “Hey, hey now. Don’t try to fight. It will feel good after a bit. You won’t even notice you’re being eaten.” His face bends in low towards Stretch, who tries to flinch backwards but has nowhere to go. He licks the side of face. A tongue rolls over his cheek and over his left eye. Stretch shuts his eyes closed in time but the feeling is gross and wet and sick.

The burly monster grasps at the wounded ankle. “Did someone already take a bite from my prize?” He lifts the leg, kissing upward towards his inner thigh. “Don’t worry.” He kisses the thigh, careful as he proceeds up to the nape of Stretch’s neck, whispering taunts. “I won’t bite you, hard.” He licks there too. Stretch tries to fight back against the monster but his hands are pinned in one hand and his ankle in the other. The only thing keeping him from falling over is the glass wall behind his back but that’s not the case anymore.

He slides Stretch forward, letting him fall painfully on the uneven metal of the trunk. The ridges grind into his spine, Stretch gasp for air, feeling the monster kiss and lick up his neck. The tingle is unpleasant, moist. The monster is avid for the taste of bone, his teeth scrape up against each column and lap at the creamy white discs. Stretch yells at him to stop, he feels tears well up in his eyes but he refuses to cry here. 

“Oh should I skip the foreplay and just devour you?” The monster makes a throaty laughs. “I don’t think you’d like that.” Suddenly, the monster lets go of him. Stretch scrambles back up and uses the opportunity to crawl to the front door. “You’re so slow.” The monster isn't even trying to stop Stretch, he has nowhere to run and he’s within arm's reach of the famished monster. The metallic clank of a belt buckle falling hits the floor and the monster grabs Stretch by the rib and pulls him backwards. His back hits the floor and Stretch bites down a breath, not allowing a scream erupt from him. 

Suddenly the coolness of air hits his legs, his pants are being pulled off him. With his hands tied Stretch reaches for the pants, pulling them back on, playing tug of war with this stranger until he punches him. Hard. Stretch feels his teeth clatter and his skull falls back against the ground.

He gasps for air. “Stop!” Stretch heave a lungful of air, fighting against the hands that claw at his clothes. “I can get you food. Real food! Breakfast! Lunch! Dinner! Anything!”

“Dinner? What about desert?” He holds out the pair of shorts in front of him, showing the other that he is completely debriefed. The monster waves it around on the edge of his finger like this is a triumph of some sort. Stretch squirms, uncomfortable lying naked. His skull is still throbbing from that punch, he cant think straight. Instinctively he closes his legs.

“I’m going to enjoy you thoroughly.” His tongue licks over his eyes again. This time Stretch cant blink fast enough and the flat of his tongue drags along the inner rim of his eye socket. Stretch struggles for air, choking on his own spittle. How the hell was he supposed to know this psycho would lick his eye?! It itches and instantly becomes irritated. His vision is clouded over by tears. The orange magic swells up into this skull and he weeps at the thought of this monster still towering over him and he has no means to escape. 

“Edge!!!” Stretch yells out for him, desperately hoping the other would rescue him.

He hears that metallic clack of the belt again, it fills his mouth.Stretch presses his tongue against it, forcing the leather out as he screams again and flails out at the other. Another strike makes his head collide with the car floor and the belt tightens around his skull. Stretch can still scream but every sound Stretch make is muffled. Stretch cant even breath through his mouth. Stretch learns quickly to breathe through his nose. A zipper is being pulled down, the sound makes him sit up and stare in horror as the glowing appendage confronts him. The monster makes a carnal sound and in his frenzy grabs Stretch’s legs by his ankles. His sharp claws dig into the bleeding wound and Stretch writhe in pain, sobbing.

“Thanks for the meal.” 

He moans as he slides his filthy cock inside of him. Stretch screams out, the desire to fight burns inside his soul. He’s beyond the point of negotiating he had to act! He summons a femur to his palms, evoking his magic to make something he could use as a weapon. The orange glow of magic sputters in the air and Stretch yells again. A dreadful feeling of sickness passes him, his magic couldn’t form. It sent a throb of pain through his bones and somehow in the back of his Skull Stretch knows his health has just dropped, the buffer of sleep is the only thing protecting him but he has no clue how much of it he has right now. 

Stretch rolls over, landing an elbow deep into the grooves of the metal plated car and attempts to crawl away but the just grabs him by a rib, snapping it in the process and throws him back down. Stretch stare up at the tree tops, his mouth agape even though no sound comes out. Only a choking gasp of air bogs up from his throat. He can’t do anything, not even scream. He wheezes. Unable to scream, unable to fight. He stares through his orange tinted tears up at the barren tree tops. 

“Relax cutie, I’m not even in all the way.” The monster is ruthless. Biting, scratching, bruising his bones in ways to make Stretch ache and whine. “You taste so good.” He pushes in deeper. Claws push at his hips, making Stretch buck up against the feel of the other. 

His teeth gnaw at the belt, the taste of leather in his mouth is foreign and the amount of drool accumulates, sliding down his chin. Stretch wants to vomit, Stretch wants to throw up anything in my stomach, but he can’t even do that much he hasn’t eaten anything.

A low grumbling starts beneath him, at first he is sure it's his stomach. But it’s a new feeling and Stretch don’t welcome it. It shakes his entire being, and the monster suddenly stops rocking into him. The monster looks serious, no longer playing and taunting like he had done before. Stretch trembles in place. He knows his ribs are bleeding his ankle is bleeding. He can’t even breathe and he knows they aren’t anywhere done but the monster suddenly stops, pulling out of him and stands, buttoning his pants in a hurry. “What the hell? Who the fuck started my truck?” 

The two slide forward and hit the front door, the car moves up and down a hill, weaving through trees on an unsteady dirt path. Stretch hits his shoulder on the move, his captor hits his head on a metal beam and falls over. The piercing crack of bone on metal makes a hollow thunk that fills Stretch with empathetic pain. The monster is angry now, he reaches for a knife on the side of his thigh and swings open the car door to threaten the driver. “Stop the truck or I’ll fucking stab-“

Stretch slides forward now as the car stops on a hill, his head hits the back wall, slamming against the metal encasing the bottom of the truck. The cannibal slides too, but on his feet he can do little to balance himself. He falls over onto his stomach, the knife slips under his clothes and stabs him. A string of curses flood out from his mouth.

The driver stands up and crouches through the door to comes to the trunk, a glowing red femur in one hand. Its Edge. Stretch wants to call out for him. Never had he been so happy to see his own striking face. 

He kicks the monster in his ribs and with the end of his sharpened bone spears the monster flat against the floor of the truck. The bastard lies on his back, and coughs up blood and words that sting in the air. “B.. b..boss.”

Edge turns his head away. He has to crouch under the low roof but he still remains looming above the rest in the glass cage. Stretch struggles to sit up and help himself. First he pulls the belt from his teeth and looks for his pants. They are across the trunk, bawled up on the corner. Stretch closes his legs, embarrassed, but it's not the first time he’s been seen naked.

The embarrassment is more from what just happened. That bastard tried to rape him! Stretch glances at the monster speared in the floor, watching him gurgle in his own pile of blood. He looks at Edge, surprised how quickly his copy was able to attack another monster. Even if he deserved it… he was still…

Edge grabs him roughly, pulling Stretch forward without a word. Totally disregarding Stretch don’t have pants. He unlocks the backdoor with the set of car keys and Stretch is barely able to grab his shorts as they attempt to leave. He unlocks the door Stretch was so desperately trying to escape too. 

Finally he is free from that death trap of a car.

Stretch hugs onto him tightly. Edge shushes him, running a hand through his skull. He carries him over his shoulder like a baby that needs to be burped. 

“You okay?” 

Stretch clings to his shoulders and nods his head, his voice is, for the moment, lost. It hurts from screaming but more likely he’s afraid that if he starts to speak he’ll break down and cry and cry more than he already has.

“Lets get back on the road. We need to clear out of here.” 

From over Edge’s shoulder Stretch sees his rapist, bleeding out. He’s unconscious but he’s still very much alive. Maybe before this virus the monsters was once a member of society. 

Or maybe he was like that before any of this happened. One thing is for sure though… “We can't leave.” Stretch whispers softly, he feels the tears swell up in his eyes but he doesn't back down. “He’s going to die.”

Edge stops walking. Hefting Stretch up on his shoulder again to keep him from falling, he slowly turns towards the truck. “What? You want to go back?” Stretch nods his head sheepishly into his shoulder.

“He’s alive. …” Stretch whispers. “He’s sick and demented… but he’s alive. We can’t leave him!”

“He touched you!” Edge grits his teeth in anger. “He fucking tried to ..Fuck you and eat you! Are you mental?! He’s not worth saving! He’s trash and he’s-!!!” Edge heaves a sigh and retries to explain this with reason. “He touched you… so he’s infected. He won't live much longer. If the virus doesn't kill him, then he’ll bleed out.”

“I’m infected too!” Stretch reminds him. “What’s the difference? Why keep me alive and let him die?!”

“HE-!” Edge loses his temper, yelling suddenly but he bites back the rest of his words. Edge seems very possessive right now. The way he holds Stretch… like he won't ever let him go. 

“My brother said, even the worst person can change. It doesn't matter what he did… or what he was trying to do. He’s alive! You can’t leave him Edge! He’s not dead!”

“You’re really something huh, Dumbass?” He scoffs. “…Wanting to save the person who was trying to kill you… to rape you… jeez. How can you just forgive a monster like that? Your brother must have been some sort of saint. ” Edge turns back and starts to walk towards the truck again. Stretch can’t see well from over his shoulder, but the forest becomes thinner as he walks. Stretch know he’s headed towards that clearing. 

“My bro’s the greatest.” Stretch hiccups. “He was my world. I love him and… I miss him so much. He always made. Hic. everything better. He was my. my. light. … my brother. I want to preserve his morals. I dont want anyone to die! Wouldn't you do anything for your bro?”

Edge stares at through the glass panes and at the bleeding monster in the back of the truck. “If he’s infected I’m going to plant one between his eyes!” 

\---

Stretch cranes his head to the crevice between Edge’s shoulder and neck, letting his chin rest there comfortably. Edge is fuming. Angry beyond measure but keeps up a calm demeanor to try to convince Stretch otherwise. It doesn't work. There is enough venom in Edge’s tone to warn even the densest person of his blood lust. It was almost touching. Edge cared about him... Edge came back for him. 

What an idiot.

Why did this moron even come back? Saving him was pointless… he was going to die anyway. Just because a monster… touched him… it shouldn't make any difference. He was dead either way. 

Stretch stares out at the truck as step by step they approach it once more. He’s glad Edge is returning because, in a small way, it was like returning for the dead. Returning for their own. It was a luxury he was never able to spare for his own brother. And, Stretch thinks softly, when he dies soon… long gone with the virus coursing through his bones, maybe Edge would have someone new to sit and talk too. Even if the asshole was a perverted… sadistic… selfish… feverish… sick… cannibal fuck. Edge could keep him in line. He was stronger. And then maybe Edge wouldn’t be so lonely when Stretch is gone.

Yet, even in his resolve to die he still can't shake something from his head. “Why?” He still feels the tears pouring hot down his face, without his hands he settles to rub them into the other's shirt. It looks as if he is nuzzling him. The act alone softens Edge, he places a hand on the others skull, and calms his voice from the rage he felt earlier.

“Why, what?” He comes upon the vehicle and stares out down towards the monster beyond the glass. The creature inside has already lost consciousness. With a wave of his hand, Edge dissipates the femur that has speared the monster. The cannibal lets out a gasp of air, still alive. 

“Why would you ‘plant one between his eyes’? I’m infected too...” Stretch reminds him. He lays his chin on his shoulder and feels the murmur of his own voice against the solid bone. “What’s the difference?”

“He touched you.” 

“But…  Why would you kill him?! Just because he… did that. I mean look at him, Edge! He’s alive! He’s scared and alone! He’s gone mad. Insane, really. He’s insane to want to eat other monsters but I sort of understand that. I cant explain why but… I understand that. When everything… everyone around you is dead its hard to remain sane in a shitty world like that. Without ever having hope, without ever knowing if there will be a rese-” 

He bites back his words. He knows there's no reason to bring up stuff from the underground and talking was straining his voice. Resets were nothing but nightmares. Maybe they were never real to begin with. There was no proof that any of those delusions had ever come true. “Knowing there's no way for things to go back to normal… its no wonder he became a cannibal. But that doesn't make him a bad person! Every monster is made of love and kindness! We aren’t like humans. We can come to an understanding!”

But there's so much more Stretch wants to say. Why are they any different. Both are infected now… so why discard another life? Why not abandon them both...

Edge walks around the car and opens the front door of the passenger side. He shrugs Stretch down from his shoulders and buckles him into the seat carefully. He tightens the seatbelt around him and drops down the backpack of supplies by his feet. He’s finally free from his weight, but his shoulders sag even lower now. He leans an arm over the frame of the car door. 

“Maybe thats how it was in your shitty world but in Underfell its always been monsters are made of LOVE and thats it! So stop looking for something more. Creeps like that… you can’t find salvation for them. He’s always been a cannibal. You’re not going to chang-”

“-Always?! So, you know him?!” 

Stretch perks up, the crestfallen look in his face replaced with something akin to hope. Upon seeing such a cheerful expression on Paps tearful face, he’s taken back. A small dusting of magic spreads a blush across his cheeks. “...Yes, he was… “ He scratches at his chin, trying to think of something nice to say back. “...a resident in Underfell.” 

Stretch stills himself. He sits forward and stares out over the dashboard of the car. His impish smile suddenly overcome with sadness, dread. He thinks back to the monster in the trunk. His bones still felt the touch of that monsters brute hold. His jaw still hurt from being gagged by a belt buckle. It had only happened minutes ago… but it felt like ages. It felt like those same boney fingers from a lifetime ago. His voice grows quiet. Edge has to lean in to hear the whispers of words. 

“Back there...Is that… is he… Gaster?”

“Gas- wh-? No you fucking idiot! Its Sans! My Sans! Don’t you have that clingy sweaty bastard in your world?”

He snaps his head toward the trunk to make sure the bastard hasn't moved. He does a quick check on his health, but there isn't the slight look of relief on his face. He turns his attention back to Stretch, his appearance only softening when he sees the confusion on the others face. Its nothing like the hopeful tiny smile tugging at the tips of his jaw, or that forlorn scowl that crosses his face when deep in thought. His eyes are wide and his posture is slouched, he keeps shaking his head. As if he were arguing with himself. Denying what Edge has stated as true. 

“...Sans? But he’s so big… and old. Not old but… older. Like you and me. That's not Sans. I mean… he’s…”

“Your brother isn’t like that?”

“No!” He waves his fingertips emphatically as if to stop the notion from even being said. It looks as if he is making a spider shadow puppet with his hands. Edge lets a small huff escape him. “Sans is small and adorable and he hides in my hoodie and still begs for bedtime stories…” 

The look on Stretches face is priceless. Lost in memories, he looks like a kid retelling stories of his favorite superhero. Smiling somehow, even though he had just been assaulted. “...and scolds me for not going to work and eating out and watching tv…” Edge feels a sinking of guilt in his chest. He’d never seen Stretch as energetic of happy as he was now, talking about his brother. “...he’s kindhearted and energetic and he’s just a kid… he was… just a kid. Too sweet for this world… and-”

“Yeah, whatever, he’s gone now.” Edge interrupts, he waves his hand as if to shoo the conversation away. He takes another look at the trunk, making sure they aren’t in danger. “So what? Want to replace him? I’ll tell you right now I’m not caring for that sack of shit. He isn't worth the time… isn't even a half decent pet. He can’t do the dishes, he can’t hold down a job, he won't pick up his socks, nightmares every night, begging for help in even the simplest of fights, always getting himself in trouble… 

"But he's your broth-"

"He WAS, my brother. That  _ thing _ isn't the same Sans!” Edge yells. His voice carries so loudly it scares crows from their perch in the trees. They caw and beat their wings to get away from the sound. Stretch too shifts backwards, hands in front of his chest defensively as if he had just been bitten by a stray. Edge exhales a long sigh from his nasal cavity, tries to make the scorn in his voice go away and explain it simply to him but without anger masking his words all that's left is the heavy set of depression in his tone. “He's broken."

"What do you-" Edge hears the sentence before it's even finished.

"Shut up and play with the radio or something." His gut wrenches at the thought. He slams the car door and turns towards the trunk. Stopping any possible thing Stretch could ask. Prying was painful. For both of them. Stretch fidgets in his chair, turning his posture to look out the back window. 

He can’t see much from this angle, especially when he has to strain his neck from where he is buckled in to look over his shoulder, but he can place the hand on the floor belonging to the monster that attacked him. The Underfell version of Sans. Edges brother…

The body is dragged out the trunk, leaving a smearing trail of blood behind. The slamming sound of the back door makes Stretch jump in place. He turns his head forward to look through the windshield and up at the barren trees. The sky seemed once was a symbol of hope for his kind, as he stares at the great abyss of clouds he hears a piercing scream. Then a thunk and the world goes quiet again. He pulls down the mirror for the passenger side and tries to adjust it to get a look at whatever Edge was doing. 

Its no good though, his back is turned to the truck. The familiar hum of magic lingers in the air, like a faint electric white noise the radio makes when it can’t get a signal. There's another scream. Something that sounds pathetic and whining. He can’t make out the words of what they’re saying… but its nothing good. Only the loud slur of curses and screams make it to the interior of the car. 

Stretch can’t bare the pained sounds but he can’t exactly go out and beg Edge to stop. He has to trust him. Edge came back. He definitely wouldn't kill the monster unless he turned. He turns on the radio like Edge said, he needed a distraction. Something to numb his mind. The radio is normally full of static but sometimes they would pick up military stations, announcements, or someone requesting help. Every station appeared to be the same loop again and again “-or the next week we will purge the virus from our homes and cities by making an aerial bombardment on the Eastern coast moving West. Military support from Belvast has supplied us with troops to push-” Stretch turned it off, tired of that depressing announcement. Luckily there seems to be some Cd’s in the tray. Stretch loads the first one, some sort of country music. He looks to the mirror again. This time Edge is squatting by the other wielding a human knife. His mouth moves. Words that don’t look like anger. The other answers. A silent movie has Stretch playing a guessing game. He tries to make it funny, tries to make the pained cries only part of an act and begins to dub the two.

“Heeya Sansy. Knife to see you again.” Edge mouths.

“Brother! You know I said no more puns! You should be ashamed of yourself.” 

The Red Sans mumbles, he spits out blood. It runs down his shirt, matching the same dark color. His hands are smeared with blood. He pounds on his chest and then points at Edge with an accusing finger.

“Awww. Sansy you shouldn’t cut our fun short!” 

Edge draws the knife closer to the other, sliding it inside his nasal cavity and raises three fingers. A countdown. From where the Sans version sits on the floor his eyes go crossed to stare at the blade. One eye can no longer materialize, the blade sticks out of that eye socket. 

Stretch hitches a breath. He shouldn't be watching this. He tries to joke still. 

“How did you find me? Is it because I haven’t taken a bath in three days?” 

“Haha…. Well you know I, the magnificent Sans, have a sharp sense of smell! ”

The Underfell Sans looks uncomfortable, the blade is probably pressed painfully against the inside of his skull. He doesn’t look or sound so tough anymore. He sneers up at the other, making an obscene gesture with his hands. Edge doesn't seem too thrilled about it. He puts a foot on Sans’ chest to push him down. Pushing and pulling in two directions to make the knife slip deeper into-Oh stars- was Edge going to- ??? On his own brother?! 

“Hehe… you never make puns bro. 1 down. 2 more to go! You’re doing great! That was a cleaver pun! But let's get to the point. How have you been? Sleeping with any monsters lately? Giving them the ol’ boning knife?” 

Two fingers. 

“Thats embarrassing Papy! I haven’t even finished my dating manuel!” Stretch pauses. That's not right. Edge’s brother wasn’t innocent at all. Stretch has been mimicking his own brother. He tries to correct his tone and makes the deep sultry voice of the monster he had first heard when he woke up in the truck. When he looks up again. Edge is only holding one finger. 

“Of course I have. Met a real cutie just a moment ago. Too bad it was a one knife stand!”

Stars. These puns were horrible. Well of course, he’s only thinking about the weapon Edge is wielding. This isn’t fun. This isn’t making him feel any better. Now he’s just focussed on making worse and worse jokes as Edge seriously counts down how long until he crack this monster's skull. What the fuck was wrong with Underfell?! This wasn’t how brothers were supposed to act! And sure… he doesn’t feel like that monster should get away scott free. But breaking bones was not justice! 

They speak again. Sans is down on his knees. He boasts his chest, puffs it up as if he weren’t afraid of the pain coming. Instead he seems to egg Edge on. 

Edge, with his black laced up sneakers on the others bleeding chest and a knife through the monster's skull, mouths something back. They’re taunting each other but Stretch fills the space with something else. 

“I really miss you Papy.” Sans smiles with a toothy grin. He reaches out to his brother to hug him. Not strangle. Hug. Definitely hug. 

“I really missed you too Sans.” Papyrus strains against the weight of his words, against the weight of the knife and yanks backwards until a scream rips through the air and the Edge stands tall again. A stream of blood arcs off the blade and splatters the side of the car. The metal makes a solid tiny tink sound at the impact of droplets. 

Stretch brings his knees to his chest and breaks his gaze away from the mirror. He can’t see it anymore anyhow. Its blurry. Hot tears keep rolling down his cheeks… even when he closes his eyelids. 

“I miss you. I miss you. More than you’ll ever know. I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry for being such a bad brother. I couldn’t protect you. I can’t protect anyone…” 

Another scream pierces the side of his skull. The familiar buzz of magic shakes his bones. Something big was coming. An attack. No this wasn’t a bone attack or even a blue gravity attack. It was a loud hum. The whirring of machinery as it came to life, the sound of something winding up, powering on. 

A blaster. 

Stretch claws at the suffocating seatbelt, trying to turn around in his seat to confirm what he already felt in his bones. A large white skull floated above the two outside. It looked nothing like the rounded loving blasters at home. It was sharp, angular. Its bones looked gnarled and the creature foamed at the mouth, its eyes blood red like his magic. 

Edge couldn’t dodge that. There was no way! 

Stretch pulls at the door handle, swinging it open in desperation and summons his own magic to counter the blast. He raises both his hands, following the arc of a summon and feels the rush of magic sweep through his ragged soul. It sputters. It feels unnatural and unwilling to form. Paps is about to force it to form when he falls over and swings out under the car, the top of his head scrapes the ground. The seatbelt clicks, pulled at its full length and tangled at his waist, now tautly keeping him in place away from the battle. 

Stretch dangles his hands above his head and pushes off from the ground. His knees hit the car door and he struggles to right himself from his fallen position. 

“You fucker! You never came back! I waited! I waited but you didn't come back boss! You never even tried too!” The ominous magic stills. There is no malice, no target from its source. Stretch snaps his head towards the direction of the voice. An upside down Sans and Edge stand off at each other. Sans is absolutely covered in his own blood and marrow. He’s lost a lot of it. It drips from his face, up into the sky where it's red stark color converges with the brown dour tones of Earth. 

“Why would I!? You made it clear you didn't need me! You’re the one who said I was in your way! You’re the one who wanted fucking space!” Edge throws a punch that collides solidly with the others skull. He gets knocked back and yells, but doesn't fight back. 

Stretch looks up from the ground. He kicks out, locking a foot around the arm rest and tries to do a single sit up to reach the car again. The truck is raised from the ground by a good foot and a half. He wasn’t the most fit monster… he knew that. His brother always scolded him when he skipped training and ate sugary foods at Muffets. But he always thought he could at least manage something as basic as a sit up. The wind picks up… blowing the car door slightly closed it thumps against his shoulder pinning him awkwardly. 

He pushes his cupped hands against the door, only for it to smack him once more. 

Stretch stares out, feeling a bit dizzy. The brothers have stopped.Why? At first he thinks its the sound. They hear the music of the car loud and clear since the doors open but he soon realises that the two are making a strange gesture. Now they both stand with their head tilted to the side watching as Stretch struggles with the seat belt. They really do look similar with both of their heads crooned to stare at the idiot. 

“Your boyfriend's a fucking mess.” Says the indescribable monster covered in his own blood.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Edge says dismissively. He doesn’t even graze the other with his attention. Edge raises a non existent eyebrow. “You okay there, Asshole?” Stretch nods his head. Giving and awkward thumbs down to try to correct for his angle. 

“He’s not really bright.” Sans mumbles. He takes the chance to tear off his left sleeve and fastens it between the bleeding ribs in his chest. One of his eyes are hollow, a long chip of bone is missing as a bridge from his nose to that eye. His hand cups the bleeding half of his skull. Despite the injury, despite the screaming, the monster seems better for wear. 

“Shut up and get in the truck.” 

“Got it boss.”

Its as if they never were fighting. Stretch quickly looks from one to the other. Is this how Underfell handles all its problems? But… the other Sans looks seriously hurt… 

Edge approaches his side of the car and with a devilish smirk and a single finger, presses the button on seatbelt clasp. Stretch winces as he takes the short foot dive to the ground, the chord unraveling around him. 

The taller extends a hand down to him.

“Nosy fucker aren’t you.” 

“You were hurting him!”

He takes the hand and is helped back to his seat. Edge reclips the seatbelt around him and closes the door on him. A moment later he walks around the front of the vehicle and opens the driver side door to take his own seat. He readjusts the mirrors. Then plays with the seat before finally getting back to Stretch. 

“I used a human knife.” 

“So?! That's worse! Don’t you remember what that human-” … no maybe it wasn't real. Edge raises a brow, clearly having no clue what he was talking about. If his alternate can’t remember… maybe it was just a nightmare. Bad dreams. Delusions of his mind. After a moment of silence as Edge waits for Stretch to speak he realises the other won't continue. That's fine… they both think. They don't need to talk about their universes. Underfell had weird abusive rituals and Underswap had… … had nothing. That human wasn’t evil. They were good. Yet, Stretch had a tight feeling in his chest. He doesn't want to talk about it anymore. 

The two settle into a comfortable silence. 

…

…

“Mmm… this is nice.” Stretch feels an arm slip around his neck. As he looks to his left he sees the copy Sans, his other arm loops around Edge’s shoulder. “On the road again with my two favorite people. Boss and Sexy♥ This is going to be so much fun…”

“Shut up Sans.” Edge breathes. 

He removes his arm from his brother and leans into Stretch with a small pout. “Its not fair….Look what he did to me babe! I’m hurt. Help me heal okay?♥ I jus… need a small bite. Gimme some sugar.” Stretch leans backward, panic surging through his chest. 

“Shut.  up.  Sans.” 

Edge grinds his teeth together. The look in his face is grim. The thought crosses through both monsters in the car that Edge wouldn't hesitate to kill them both, simply because they were in his way. He was pissed. And he was dangerous. 

“... shutting up, boss.” 

\---

The truck remains parked. Edge sits with both hands on the front wheel. A staring contest has begun between the two brothers. For monsters so violent they sure were immature. Stretch feels both scared and confused watching their interactions. He feels the wet of blood on his neck from where the Sans has latched himself onto, not letting go still. He assumes that must be why Edge hasn’t started driving. The monster is still a bleeding mess. Covered in red… Red. That's what he’ll call him. There’s no way this copy could be called a Sans. Sans was nothing alike. 

The inside of the car starts to smell like copper. Stretch wants to make an offer to patch Red up, they have bandages in their bags… but it doesn't seem like either of them would listen to him if he spoke right now. The monster was going to die from blood loss at this rate… He had already collapsed once. 

The funny thing about having a staring contest with a skeleton… is that neither of them blink. It's not necessary at least. Sometimes blinking helped to clear vision or to focus their eye lights or block out the light when they try to sleep. It was pointless trying to see which one of them blinks. Stretch wonders if maybe this is a contest of something else… an endurance test? A battle of the minds? He has no fucking clue. Not until he hears the soft snores of the monster leaning on him. His shoulders fall and the monster crumples forward hitting the middle divider and bleeding all over that too. 

Satisfied, Edge starts the car. 

“...Edge, your brother just collapsed. Are you… just okay with that?” 

“Yup.” 

“You sliced him open. He’s BLEEDING on me and the seats!”

“He’s fine. Happens all the time.” 

“Edge!” Stretch reaches out and grabs the monsters shirt. “This isnt okay! Why are you acting this way!” 

Edge turns his head away from the front and puts the car in park again. He turns to look at the other skeleton, then his brother who is face down in the cupholder. He opens his mouth to say something but hesitates. Instead he reaches over the two of them and grabs at the backpack by his feet. He rummages around and pulls out the bandages and a roll of duct tape. He looks between the two and smirks. Casting one aside with ease. 

Stretch doesn't like that look on his face but he tries to brush off the sinking feeling in his chest. He slumps his weight onto the car door and looks out the window while Edge begins to bind his brother's wounds. He wasn’t a doctor… but it would suffice to stop the bleeding. 

“Knives…are a good weapon.” Edge starts, at last picking up their last conversation. “Magic can only do a set amount of damage. But human tools… they can be filled with intent their value of attack only changes based on someone's bloodlust. Even a toy could be a weapon.” Stretch absent mindedly palms the side of his ribs. 

“My bone attacks always do a set damage. Depending on which I use it can be fatal… but they’re not the best tools for torture. A knife slides through bone like butter. It can whittle down hp from decimals. Sans doesn’t have much health to begin with. If he sleeps in it can raise to 50…” 

He pulls the duct tape with his teeth, fastening Reds arms the same way Stretch had his bound. Stretch looks over at the shoddy patch up job Edge has done. The bridge between the monsters eye and nose is duct taped over. Their ribs, duct taped together. His shoulder, duct tape cast. It looks absolutely stupid, but Edge looks proud of his work, reveling in the fact that if Red even tried to peel it off he’ll only be in more pain. 

“... if he’s eaten his hp can stay in the 200s for a couple weeks. I took a gamble with the first shot. After that, using the knives was common sense.” 

Common sense. As if anything that brutal was common sense. Stretch doesn't feel like talking anymore. He feels worse knowing than when they just sat in silence. At least then he could provide his own answers… like … maybe its an Underfell greeting. Or something stupid that he could pass off as something other than pure violence. 

He leans his head on the car window and tucks his body close to himself. He doesn't know how to feel right now. He feels guilty he abandoned his brother. Hes concerned for the relationship these two brothers consider normal. He's scared of that dark look in Edge’s eyes. He’s self conscious of the pounding in his chest when Red comes near. He’s ashamed to feel that stinging in his bones, embarrassed to remember the first time that had happened. Proud to protect Sans… and then, once again thinking of Sans, depressed. 

He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. 

He wanted to just die already. 

“Hey Asshole,” Edge calls him. 

He really should consider changing that name. Being alive for this long, the value and humor in the name has lost all meaning. Still, Papyrus responds to the name. He turns his head towards the other monster and makes a small snort to indicate he was listening… but still pissed. 

“My Sans is nothing like yours… you said. So… do you think your sugar overdose universe has a cure for my Sans too?”

Stretch looks back at Red who, without a seatbelt and unconscious, has slid across the back of the trunk. A cure for Sans? Like for the infection? No… that can’t be what Edge was asking for. He makes it sound like it's a disease that affects all Sans. Edge had said something like that before too-... that Red was broken. The only thing broken with that monster was his head… 

“What's wrong with him?”


	5. Im a Little Snowman

Edge clenches his hands against the steering wheel. He’s taken to driving with the windows open to get rid of the smell of the bloody monster asleep in the car with them. On the open road with zero traffic and a full tank of gas Edge was driving as fast as he could ever have wanted, which of course only made the windows roar louder in the small vacuum of the vehicle.

The sound of whooshing air drowned out the radio and even though Stretch still waits for Edge to say something he knows it would be pointless to yell over the wind. 

Stretch looks to the back of the car, where the monster he calls Red is sleeping off the damage he’s sustained. Its curious to think that this is still Sans. They look and act completely different, though he supposes the same is true for his own altermate. The Underfell Papyrus was imposing, scary. Just like this version of Sans. 

Still, the two Papyrus’ shared the same looking face more or less. His copy had high cheekbones, sharp teeth, and a scar down the side of his face but it was unmistakable himself. He knew that immediately. 

This Sans looked older. Was, older. 

… 

Would Blue be as tall as Red one day? Would he have the same worn expression of tiredness in his eyes? Would he develop that hunch in his shoulders or that gloomy brooding look in his brow? Would he grow up to be a sexual devient?! And what about this disease Edge mentioned? … Was Sans in trouble? 

Would he be just like the monster in the back seat when he grows up? 

If. 

If he grows up. 

Which he won't. 

He has to remind himself again. 

His younger brother is gone, he’s been gone for a while. He had to accept that. Everyone’s gotta move on. He just… liked those days boarded up in their home… hoping that his brother was still in there somehow. 

Family was the only thing keeping him sane in those quiet days, he was practically alone. Blue was there but unresponsive. He’d smile and make infantile grunts and babbles but his brain was mush. 

Like the corpses he’d eat. 

And even despite the smell, Stretch loved his brother. He’d wipe away the blood from his cheek the same way he’d wipe baby food from a toddlers face. He’d confine Sans to a room at night but always carefully played with him during the day. Rolling a ball back and forth or putting down blocks. It was like his bro was his baby bro again. And that wasn’t so bad.

He could keep him forever. 

The monster in the backseat. Red. He’s also his brother. A copy of him. But … still a Sans. 

Somehow. 

The roaring of the wind stops, the windows finally rolled up and he hears the music begin once more with a ballad of notes from a guitar. A country singer makes up pretty words that rhyme, singing of finding his lost partner. His other half. 

Papyrus thinks, wouldn’t it be nice if he could make friends with this monster too? He could have his brother again. He could feel whole again. 

“You’re going to hurt your neck like that.” Edge comments on the way Stretch is sitting, with his whole body turned to the backseat. Stretch tries to laugh it off but the small heckle he makes feels dry. 

He twists his body back to the front and stares out at the long expanse of road. It never seems to end… its dull and makes him want to drift to sleep again. 

Plowed cars mark the sides of the road from the early days of trying to contain the virus. There are a few trees too. Lots of tree, actually. Orchards. Stretch perks up. In front of them are miles and miles of a farm. On the right of the highway are tall orchard apple trees. On the left wheat. He opens his mouth, his tongue clicking with silent words before Edge cuts him off. 

“We cant.” 

“Edge, we only have enough food for-”

“Its not edible.” Edge cuts him off again.

Stretch is about to argue but stops himself. 

Stretch leans back in his seat again with a sigh. His tired eyes follow the long road, taunting him with the bounty of food on either side. Edge had probably thought about this longer than he had. He was right. The prospect of a crunchy apple was too good to be true. But. 

“But, what about canned goods? There could be jarred fruit or-”

“Look at the road, Stretch. See those cars? They’re not plowed over. They are parked.” Stretch turns his attention to the side window, looking out only seemed to nauseate him. His eyes tried to focus on the passing images. He gets a glimpse at a few useable cars. They are marked of recent use by the luggage tied to their tops or weapons speared onto their sides. Some even have their running lights still on. 

“That means people are-!” 

“People are dead.” Edge cuts him off again. His thin patience is only an effect of his overthinking. He’s had a long time to process this. Stretch can see it on his face. He’s been calculating his options, thinking of what has happened here. “A farm is a landmark. A place for people to gather with false hopes for survival only to fall into the trap of becoming infected. They eat the fruit, they get infected! Other people park, seeing the cars… seeing the potential of safety and they’re attacked and the cycle continues because dumbasses don't hide their cars and scout an area by foot!”

“Chill out, Edgy…” 

“I CANT.” Edge yells. “Because now we have to stop, so ‘ _ it’ _ can eat. But if we do we run the risk of getting HURT or ACTUALLY FUCKING DIE! I told you he’s nothing but TROUBLE. He’s extra baggage and he’s going to drag us DOWN!” His grip on the steering wheel makes the leather creak. Stretch reaches out his hands to grab his copies arm. 

“Edge… How can you say that? ...He’s your brother.” The word brother has so much weight to it. The jagged monster does a double take, looking quickly at the tied up creature on his right then the road. Then again he does the same thing, staring abruptly at the concerned look on Stretch’s face before glancing back at the road. 

Slowly, he loosens one of his hands from the wheel and offers it to the monster beside him. With a small sympathetic smile, Stretch takes his hand in both of his. Those large callus bones feel cold in his touch. 

“He’s not my brother.” There is a note of confidence to those words. Something so painfully truthful that makes the small gesture of holding hands seem infinitely dwarfed. That ache in his chest comes back, that tender feeling awash by the malice from the others tone. In his own sickly sweet way Edge continues, “The only thing that matters is keeping you safe.” his hand grips tightly in Stretch’s palms. 

The feeling of bone grating bone has always been something delicate, precious even. The sensation of one’s fingertips closing that distance… Stretch yearned for that. It was a need he never knew he had and yet… that feeling of warmth doesn’t cross him. Edge is cold. His hands are cold. His words are cold. 

He gives a fleeting glance at the passenger in the trunk, hoping that Red was still asleep and didn't hear something so horrendous as the hate from his sibling.

He’d known from the start that Edge had a high lvl. He’d guess the brother in the back does too. They both seem eager enough to fight and ready for pain. They’re used to battle and even though Edgy had so adamantly denied the fun of this post apocalyptic nightmare he saw in the way he fought in the thrill of battle. Maybe they could only express themselves with violence.

“...Is that the way Underfell is?” Stretch asks after a moment. Maybe monsters had too much LOVE and not enough… well, love. “My brother and I… he’s my world. I’d never hit him.” 

The car screeches to a stop. Edge, careful not to hit the brakes too hard to make the vehicle flip, moves with the force of newtons first law until he’s pressed into his seat belt. He extends his arm out to cushion Stretch’s momentum. The vehicle slides to a halt. 

A moment later Red slides to a halt, a heavy thunk against the back of the chairs notes he’s probably struck his head pretty hard. Edge takes his hands off the wheel, off of Stretch, and adjusts his rear view mirror to get a look at Sans in the back. 

It would be nice if there was a seatbelt for Sans, but with only two seats in the front… and the fear from Stretch and anger from Edge, it didn't seem likely he would get to sit up with the rest of them. 

“Gaster” The words linger in the air. Haunting. “You said his name earlier.” 

“... Our father.” 

“Is that what he is too you? Pft.. should have figured everything is fucking backwards...” Edge lays his hands in his lap, the lines in his face crinkle up. He doesn't avoid eye contact all together, but from the way he holds himself he feels estranged. Like talking about the past was something that didn't involve Stretch. Something that didn't need to be spoken to the other but admitted to himself first. Stretch was only eavesdropping in his own thoughts. 

It felt like less of a conversation and more of a confession. 

The air got tense in the van. Stretch leans over to shut off the music, listening intently, patiently. With the music gone and the two silent, the small snores Red made in the backseat set up a melody of which only Edge knew the tune too. 

“...In my world, Gaster was a doctor. The one who broke Sans… 

..A long time ago, Sans was my hero. My brother. We always had each other's back. Always made up for what the other lacked. Sans always had low health, so I acted as his shield and Sans was my sword. He was strong… impossibly so. It's a waste really. 

You always go on about how your stupid little brother is  _ your _ world, _ your  _ hero. … My big brother was the  _ real _ hero. Someone who always protected me. 

I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for him. 

Whether it was just from the other kids teasing, or to the adults who wanted us dead… It was always Sans who grabbed my hand and got us out of danger. 

Sans always made sacrifices for me, he probably doesn’t know I know but... when we slept he would give me his blankets for warmth. When we ate, I always got the larger portion. When we needed money… Sans was quick to make cash anyway he could. 

But that was the problem… we always needed money. Sans did everything he could for me. Gave me the best childhood possible… even though we were runts on the street, it felt like a real home when he was with me.”

Edge stills, he knows he sounds sappy so he covers his face with a hand. Stretch assumes it because he’s embarrassed. He hums happily in his throat, asking for more to the story. Glad to hear about Edge… glad to hear that his memories were so fond and that he was finally sharing.

“They called him a whore. The other kids.” Edge whispers. “They mimicked what their parents said. Slut. Whore. A cu..” And in an even lower voice… “a cum dumpster…”

There isn’t even the slightest stir from Stretch. Though making a joke was his default thing to do when he was stressed… commenting on this right now seemed insensitive. Edge was serious. He wasn’t the type of person who needed a cheap laugh to feel better. So he stays silent out of respect. 

“I didn’t know what it meant. It had no meaning to me until I asked him over dinner… his eyes hollowed and his body tensed. I’d never seen him make that face before. 

‘Lets… not talk about this again. Ever.’ Sans said. 

I didn't bring it up again. I felt like talking about it was something bad. Something I did wrong. And every time I received a new toy or Sans would bring home something warm for dinner, I started to wonder… how could he keep getting this stuff? Why did Sans not come home some nights... I knew something was wrong… but it only got worse when Sans accepted a job from that... doctor. 

He wrote a note to me. On a bright yellow sticky note. I woke up and there it was on the front door. .. Messy giant letters, scrawled in a hurry... 

‘I got a job in hotland, I’ll be gone for a couple days. Love ya -’

Sans never talked about work or jobs he had. He’d just come home with another gift, smile with that tired look, head for the bath, and sleep in the next morning. I called him lazy… I didn’t know. 

I don’t remember how I spent those next few days without Sans. I survived… but it felt empty without him. When Sans came home it lit up the whole house. Made me more happy than receiving any toy. I met him at the door, excited to see him again after a week or so.

But Sans was different. 

The first… notable thing was the large crack in his skull. It was horrible. Grotesque..It looked like someone had shoved a pickaxe at the top of his dome. It left a pit of darkness staring back. I hated looking at it… we didn’t get any battle scars as kids. Some bruises, cuts, fractures… never a gaping hole like that. Not until much later.”

He palms his own scars, the gashes drawn over his left eye that arced into his frontal lobe. The feeling isn't easy to go away. The fights he’s lived through made him stronger… but there were always scars. Winning wasn’t something to cheer over… it just meant the other person died. 

“The second thing was Sans. Like… all of him. Not his looks but… his being. His mind. 

He didn't talk like himself anymore. He had trouble staying focussed, nightmares every night after that, he would stare at other monsters outside and the whine of his magic would start up. His eyes would sink deep into pools of black. He was itching to fight.

Every other week he would go back to that lab for more treatments… 

Then every other day…

Sans couldn't process normal food anymore. He got sick. Violently sick. I thought he would die. I had no fucking clue how to care for him. I put a wet towel on his head... let him sleep as long as he liked. I kept my promise and didn't ask about his work… but he’d still fight me everyday, saying he had to go back out even though I’d beg him to rest. He’d shrug off his sickness like it was a joke and saunder out the house while still wobbling. 

And then…

Sans stopped coming home. 

…

He was a guinea pig in some sick experiment. 

That bastard did something to him. Changed him. 

We didn’t see each other for months. I heard from another monster. From people spreading rumors that the doctor was raising a monster. Not a monster like us… but a monster… like something that shouldn’t exist. Grillby was a friend of Sans at the time… though I didn't know him well. I didn’t even think Sans had any friends but…” 

Edge sighs. 

“He was a resident there and traveled between two fighting households… I found out through him what was going on in hotland. Long story short… I broke into this laboratory… found Sans in a chamber… like a cage. Bare. Like he was some wild animal. … Stained in blood. His own blood and whatever they had been feeding him in there… A real mess. It was on the floor… on the walls… the ceiling… They had him trained to a goddamn whistle when-”

He stops telling his story. 

His hands move from his face and wipes his sleeve across his face. His eyes are red, the bottom of his eye sockets look swollen, puffy and pink. He looks in the rear view mirror. 

“Since when were you awake.” It's not a question. It's a demand drawn from the guttural depths of his throat, poisonous. Stretch follows his gaze, turning himself to the backseat where he spots the unconscious Red crumpled on the floor. He hasn’t moved at all and yet he responds, having been found out there's no reason for him to pretend. 

“Mmm… you're talking about the kidnapping. But yanno, the kid woke up.” He laughs. Stretch snickers at that, only biting his tongue when Edge sent him a glare.

He undoes his seatbelt and gets out the car without another word. The two inside trace him around the truck. He stomps his feet out on the side of the road and opens the back of the truck. The metal hatch door creaks as it's turned. Edge holds open the door, jutting out his neck to indicate it was time to get out. Red happily obeys. He crouches through the door and jumps down into the dust. The sudden lack of his weight makes the truck bob slightly. The two slam the backdoor before coming to retrieve Stretch. 

They’re still on the farmland, outside the gentle wind rustles through the leaves… through the grass. The colors of the leaves have been drained of life. Rather than their normal green they are shades of auburn but they still haven’t dropped. It almost makes it look healthy. Like something from fall and not from disease. 

“I thought you didn't want to stop here.” Stretch says as they swing open the door. 

“I didn’t want to come back for this sack of shit either.” Edge replies so casually. “Now come on, Asshole. Times wasting.” 

Stretch hops out on a foot, feeling his weight shift unsteadily on his one good leg. He leans against the car for support while he zips up his coat from the chill. “Please stop calling me Asshole. If I’m gonna stick around I’d like a real name.” He mumbles. 

“Like Molases? Cuz your so slow?”

“Like Sexy Honey Bear, ♥ cuz he’s so-“

“Shut up Sans.”

Stretch stares down at his ankle, the dressings around it are bleeding through color again. Faint splotches of pink hues mark where Red had pulled and marked him. The wound was just healing nicely too… what a pain. 

“Can you walk?” 

Its been painful to put weight down on that foot. But he had to try. Slowly he lowers his foot to the ground. Despite his carefulness a pang still runs up his spine. He jolts up, raising his foot again. He make small whimper, shaking his head no. 

“I’ll carry the cutie!♥” Red volunteers. Before either can protest Stretch feels the heavyweight of his soul turning blue. The magic flowing through him feels foreign. Feels … strange but familiar. Red raises a hand to lift him up into the air but Edge counters him, slapping down his wrist like he had to scold him. 

“Conserve your magic. You’re going hunting.” Edge tells him. “And you, Hopscotch, we’re going to raise your level.” 

###  3---

Stretch raises his hand up high in the air the way a elementary student does to be called on by the teacher. Only, with his hands tied together it looks more like he’s trying to reach for the sun and harness its energy into a final attack.

… Or he could be stretching, either way its amusing to Edge, he raises a non existent brow to judge him. “What are you doing? I’m in no mood for charades, spit it out.”

“Yeah, no thanks.” Stretch leans against the car door. Letting his shoulders fall and relax.

“No thanks?” 

“Yeah… no thanks. I’ll stay with the truck.” 

“Alone?”

“I can protect myself.” 

“Oh? Then why have I been carrying your ass halfway across the country? Why is it I had to save you from getting raped?” He immediately regrets saying it, humiliation floods through Stretch’s face. He wants to argue, to deny what happened… “Sorry.” Edge manages. 

Edge turns around and kneels on the ground. “Just stay close… got it?” From his position in the dirt he can see the scruff of his brothers sneakers. The red and white leather material is worn out. Shoelaces are frayed and split. He looks up at his older brother… it had been a long time since he’d looked up at Sans. 

Its quiet and he almost doubts the other will accept his offer when he feels the weight of Stretch accompany his shoulders. It's a relief, an apology for absolutely nothing.Yet Edge is glad, Stretch is going to come with them and without a fuss. He starts to stand, making sure to loop his head through the others tied hands. 

“I’m not killing anyone…” Stretch mumbles. Stubborn till the end. Fine, at least they’re moving from that topic.

“Listen, Slim-jim, back in your world… maybe killing was a choice. Lucky you. But you can’t deny the shit place the surface is. If you're not going to level up, you should at least learn to fight.” 

His gloved hands snake around his twins hips pulling them flat against his spine. He doesn't acknowledge his brother, even as Red stares out at them both, instead Fell holds Stretch tightly. He could only spare so much concern, his twin needed protection more than his brother. His thumb rubs over the thick of his thigh and holds him steadily in place, his other hand is already summoning a femur to attack a non existent enemy. 

Perched from over his shoulder, Stretch is able to see the expansive farm. They should have driven closer to one of the houses on the property. There doesn't appear to be anything to do in the fields except run around, paranoid from the lightest sound. But the Fell brothers want that… to be surrounded in the throes of battle. It’s a challenge. A hunt. A game to them. 

“We might be stuck here for a while. Sans, get the bags.” 

Red makes a mocking sound through his teeth as he trudges around the car to grab the backpacks strewn in the passenger side. He slams the car door roughly and stomps back to the two have started walking without him. All the while mumbling about how it's not even his bags and that he’s not a bellhop. 

It's difficult for him to hold the bag with his hands duct taped. He figures out a way to slide his head through one of the arm bands, essentially strangling himself. He groans in protest, fighting with the bag to sling it around his shoulders.

If Edge hears his grumbling whines he makes no indication of it. He continues on the path with wide strides forward, chin turned up and eyes darting left and right through the fields that surround them. The leaves in this orchard are thick and very low to the ground. The only way to see through them is by pacing to that sweet spot where all the trees lined up in neat rows, becoming the illusion of a single tree. When outside that line of sight the trees seem to be a disorganised forest, capable to hide a giant in plain sight. 

Stretch lends his sight to help keep watch. From over Edge’s shoulder, he too looks through the thick of trees, trying to place any odd vibrant color as the fabric someone might be wearing. Catching up to them, Red starts humming loudly. No sense of danger, no purpose to the song.

“I’m a little snow poff! Dont push me around!!!♫

Dont pack me tight -with the snow on the ground!!♫

I’m a little snowball, give me a nice pat!

Make me real round- as I gain a lotta fat!!♫”

“Sans,” Edge tries his best to be patient. “You're banned from singing.” 

“CANT HEAR YOU! IM SINGING! IM A LITTLE SNOWMAN, BETTER WATCH YOUR TONE! I’M COLD AS ICE AND I’LL CHILL YA TO YOUR BONE!♫”

“Okay.. songs over. Can you stop now we need to listen for footste-”

“I’M A LITTLE SNOWMAN- GIVE ME A NOSE!” 

“What are you- theres no more lyrics to that, shut up Sans.” 

“PLACE ME AT THE STAIRS TO SCARE AWAY YOUR FOES.” 

“- Those arent the words.” 

“IM A LITTLE SNOWMAAAN! GIVE ME SOME EYES!♫

MY BROTHERS A LITTLE SHIT - ALL HE SAYS ARE LIES!”

“Here we go..”

“IM A LITTLE SNOWMAAN! LEAVE ME ON THE STEPS!!!

KICK ME OUT OF MY HOUSE, WHILE I PAY ALL YOUR DEBT!” 

“.. that doesnt rhyme.” 

“IMA A LITTLE SNOWMAANNN! GIVE ME A -... quiet.” He urges them, though he’s the only one yelling. The group stops at once. Sans swings his arms out in a circle and summons a femur. He catches the red bone and wields it like a baseball bat. Behind him he summons two others that hover over either shoulder. They turn with his head, directed by his will. Both turn their attention to the left, eyeing the rustling of leaves through the trees. “Twenty meters, eastern wind. Two.” 

“Four.” 

“Two.” Sans growls. 

“Four. You're dull.” Edge hefts up Stretch and shifts their weight to one side so he can properly hold his own weapon. 

“Theres two.” Sans growls out. 

Stretch looks between the two of them, it looks more like their weapons are directed at each other than on the offensive for anything lurking on the farm. He stares out to the general direction they are looking but can’t see a thing. There’s no scent of rot in the air, but then again… unless their organs were spilling out a body was pretty fresh. 

They argue back and forth like children. Bickering over two or four. Like it mattered. The important thing was something was nearby and they should direct their attention to it. 

“TWO.”

“FOUR.” 

“TWO!!”

“ITS CLEARLY FOUR!”

Stretch pales. Were these idiots seriously fighting like toddlers? How old were these idiots? If Red is the older brother in UnderFell, he’d be the same age right? Or is he even older? How shameful… can’t they agree on anything? Even faking an agreement is better. Stretch thinks back to when his own brother and him would fight. He’s the older brother, so of course he’d give in and let Sans win a fight that didn't matter. The argument didn’t matter, just keeping the peace in the house was fine. It didn't matter what they were saying… or if he was right. If Blue was mad at him well, the fight wasn't even worth it. 

Blue would tell him that sugar is bad for him and Papy would agree and put his deserts away to eat later, when he wouldn't get a scolding. Or sometimes Blue wanted to stay up late and Paps would slyly agree and let him watch tv. He’d go to the kitchen and make some hot coco… knowing Blue would knock out in minutes with warm milk and the dull news channel on. He’d win fights by not fighting. That's how a brother should act. If neither back down in their stubbornness... If the two keep butting heads like animals, they’d never repair their brotherly bond. 

“...hey, heres an idea.” Stretch chirps. He tries to keep his tone happy and upbeat to distract from the brothers anger. “Why don’t we go the other way… and not have to find out if its two or four or ten… ya know?” 

Edge partially listens. There’s part of him that knows that is the correct answer. He and Stretch should head towards the shed on the far end of the orchard, maybe even find something salvageable to use whether it be food or tools. They could leave Red on his precious manhunt and be back to the car without having to fight at all. 

But he can’t. 

Edge’s eye twitches with each insult thrown his way. He can’t help but to retort and fight back with his brother. More than the fighting, it feels natural to the brothers to fight and yell because sitting and talking about this shit would never pan out the way they like. There are too many old wounds torn open… too many things left unspoken and secrets hushed. But this wasn’t about the bond they once shared. No, this was about protecting Edge’s pride as a warrior and proving the dipshit beside him wrong. 

So they head towards the danger. Edge and Red both in stride, racing one another to get there first. Stretch groans, despite his protests the two ignore him and he bites down on his tongue and quiets himself, if only to prevent any zombies from surrounding them from all the noise he’s raising. 

…+

Drooping low to the floor on their hands and knees are two human turned zombies who are sharing a meal; plucking at the half eaten corpse of a Shyren. The head struggles with a broken fin and maimed antenna to plod away in the other direction. While her agent, the body, is gutted and mangled. 

The air smells like dead fish. Rot. 

“Looks like I’m right.” Edge gloats.”Four.” A femur that he summons lodges itself in the right zombies head killing it, and whatever human once was, instantly. For good measure he stabs it a second time through the chest. The spear glides through the rotting human cleanly and cleaves through the ground until it hits rock. Its blood is long dry, the only thing that drips from it is the fresh entrails its eaten. 

“I only see two.” Red hums. The human on the left shifts its head at the sound of the other dieing. It scrambles to stand but only falls face forward. Red has already immobilized both of its legs before it got a chance to hear them. He finishes the strike by summoning a blaster, aiming it at both the zombie and Shyrens head. There is no warning whir or sound of heat charging within the blaster skull. It makes a short precise beam that burns through the field and catches trees in the distance on fire. 

Edge and Stretch stare blankly at the scorch mark that was once Shyren. 

“You killed her…” 

“She was already infected.” Red rolls a shoulder blade and cracks his neck back and forth, the jostle rattles the tin can in his backpack, like the thud of broken bells. A rattle of death. “There was only ever two threats we had to worry about. Unlike you, I’m not into collecting damaged goods. If she can’t walk she’s no use.” 

He keeps walking forward… not sparing one glance back at Stretch. Edge stiffens, as if taking the blow on that shot as well. After all the time he had spent with Stretch… he knew it was a burden to carry him around but it was Stretch. He was alive… and a friend. Well, until he wasn’t. That was something to worry about later though, for now Stretch had kept him sane and that was enough. 

At least… Stretch hoped it was. Who knew how long Edge’s hospitality would last? Red was right… he’s no use if he can’t walk. Its not just that either. He can’t fight. His magic hurt him to use when he tried it last. He’s costing them food rations. Supplies that could be better spent for someone who traveled alone. He’s slowing down Edge. He knows it. Red knows it. They all know it… 

Edge would have left Red to bleed out. Or maybe he never would have even met him if he hadn’t been trying to rescue Stretch. Maybe he’d have been clear out the country by now… 

“Keep up.” Red shouts to them. “I’m hungry an’ I’m not stopping.” 

From the way Stretch’s arms are looped over Edge, it appears he is giving him a hug. A hug that desperately claws at Edges will. He places a hand on top of Stretches. Their palms turned towards his soul. 

“Don’t worry.” He whispers softly. So softly that Stretch thinks that maybe Edge will say something important. Something that only the two of them can share. Their fingers entwine, their souls so close their beats sync as one... Stretch had to say it first. He had to say something and get this feeling off his chest before it died with him.

“I really like-”“We’ll definitely get you a cure.” 

“Wha.. uhuh. .”” Wait..what was that?”

Edge turns so fast that his head hits Stretches jaw and they both snap towards opposite directions. Cursing as pain ebbed at their senses. Edge palms his injury, cursing at once about how the other had an iron jaw. Stretch yells about him being hard headed. Stretch tests his jaw, opening and closing it in pain as the bone readjusts with a click. 

After a couple minutes and the pain subsides. The two find themselves having forgotten the question. Only focused now on the missing party member. Sans was gone.


	6. Stay for Dinner Please...

“Where the fuck…” Edge whips around quickly. From inside the maze of trees it would be impossible to tell which way was forward if not for the line of smolder and fire on their left. “He really left. Again.”

“He’s probably up ahead,” Stretch tries to be confident even though he has no clue where Red went. He could be planning to go in the same direction … or he could wander about and look for more things to kill. 

“Nope, there he is. Useless bastard.” He mutters under his breath. He picks up the pace and stops ten feet away. Stretch looks around but see’s no sign of Red until Edge kicks his foot out. “He sleeps anywhere.” Edge picks him up by his hoodie and drags him forward. “Heavy…” 

He trudges to the farmhouse with Red in tow and Stretch on his shoulders. The three of them finally settle down inside, Edge closes the front door and drops both Stretch and Red like the luggage they are. Stretch looks around the inside of the farmhouse, same as Edge. Something is wrong here.

From the eastern wall, where the sun casts orange glow on the furniture, there appears to be a dining room crowded full of chairs. A set of four wooden wicker chairs match the table but the rest have been drug out from elsewhere in the house. About 10 of them, from a barstool to folding chair to a single sofa recliner, circle the table for the last meal shared by whomever was here last. Their meal on the table consists now of the rotting food that adds to the stench in the room. There are flies, dead and stuck to the floors and furniture. There is blood, hidden awash the bright glow of sunset. 

The kitchen, dining room, and living room all share one open space. Few corners for things to hide, they are both thankful for that at least but the small cabin was nowhere near secure, Edge had yet to check the back rooms. 

The house is old, it creaks and groans with every small step. Even when Edge disappears to survey the rest of the home Stretch knows exactly where he is. The deafening calm of silence is a good sign. Edge wasn’t fighting.

He scratches at his leg, looks boredly around the house and at the blood stains strewn on the walls. It is like a game of hidden pictures, the brightly colored suns rays match the same tint of dried crinkled blood. A pattern can show exactly where someone had been standing when attacked. The direction the impact had hit them and the imprint left behind on the walls from where they once existed. Stretch doesn’t like to unravel this puzzle. It doesn't calm him down or give his mind something to wonder about while Edge is gone. It's just more violence and he hated it. 

He looks over at Red, dozing peacefully on the ground where Edge had dropped him. Those same haunting thoughts cross his mind, thinking of his own brother and his old life. He shifts his weight and pulls Red closer, at least to get his mouth away from the filthy floor. 

He notes there is a sliding door to the back patio. A mountain of bodies have been stacked atop each other there, waiting to be burned. 

Edge comes back, head held high and face blank when he says. “There are survivors.” He juts his chin out to the human woman and child idly hanging in the hallway. Stretch smiles, waving at the smaller human and it waves back in glee. There was someone else alive it was almost too good to be true. 

“Hi, I’m Pap-!” His greeting is cut short when Edge blocks his view, crouching in front of him like a gargoyle. His clawed hands press a finger to his lips, an indication of silence, though Stretch isn’t sure why. Oh, right. Red was sleeping. Just as suddenly Edge moves out the way and attempts to wake his own brother. 

Stretch eyes the humans. The taller one, the mother, has freckled skin and long brown hair. The same trait is carried by her daughter. They are quiet, unsure of their first encounter with monsters. The daughter looks scared, but she holds onto her stuffed bunny. The difference between the dead she’s seen and walking skeletons isn’t much of a leap. The mother holds her, petting her hair down the side of her head. “I am Watseet and my daughter Tooyuh. The woman nods her head, bowing respectfully to the monsters. 

“Great… names.” Edge sighs, sarcasm laden in his tone. Stretch isn’t sure why the other was being sarcastic. He looks at the humans, offering a small smile. The younger one smiles back, a toothy grin from losing her front teeth. Edge shakes his brother, trying to stir him awake to meet the new humans. It is a challenge to wake the lethargic monster. 

Red finally opens an eye, yawning from his short nap. “Finally up?” 

A small nod. 

“Good.” Edge points over his shoulder at the women. “I found you dinner.” 

\---

Stretch couldn't believe what he was hearing.

‘I found you dinner.’ Edge said it out loud, pointing over his shoulder at the human woman and child still in the hallway. The way he says it is astute. In his tone there is no tremor of his voice. Much like his face, his words are devoid of any expression. He speaks as though he were casually discussing the weather and it horrifies Stretch. The monster flicks his attention to the mother and her child. The pair equally alert. 

Humans had always been wary of monsters, even before Mount Ebott spat up the cross universe copies and released the barrier there remained mistrust and hatred from wars past. But~ few humans remained of from those great wars. Facts were passed off as rumors, legends, stories, and it went a great way to hide the crimes of both humanity and monsters alike. In communities, monster and human could smile to their neighbors and shrug off folktales about the others species. Now without the security of society, her small smiles fades from her face. There would be no room for misinterpretation. The mother's mind jumps to the worse possible scenario as she should. She and her child scoot closer to the door. 

In an instant they bolt out the front door, the screen netting slaps the frame behind them. Bare feet pad away in the mud and dirt of the garden. Mother and child, hand in hand. 

“Why do they always run?” Sans attempts to get up from the floor, partially stunted by the backpack choking him. Edge promptly pulls it off over his head, helpful for once. 

“Don’t let them get away. We dont have time to stop again.” 

“I know. Thanks.” 

“Shut up.” 

Stretch stands to a knee despite the pain grating at his ankle. He just can’t let this continue. Was this Sans seriously going to… eat… them? And - Edge was okay with that? He looks between the screen door and the Fell brothers.They had just found survivors… humans, yes. But who cared?! Someone was alive in this fucking wasteland! Its insanely lucky!! 

Red knocks him over on his quest, hits the screen door with his shoulder and starts to begin to give chase to the woman and child. Stumbling to a knee, Stretch tries to get back up but he hears a simple one worded command. 

“Dont.” 

Dont? But he can’t just let this happen he had to do something!

Edge takes a seat on the floor beside him as Stretch’s head whips around violently from the skeleton to the front door. Sans is summoning an attack, throws it with ease to aim for the larger human. She cries out in pain, sound sharp enough to crack the horizon in two. 

“Edge. You have to stop him…” Stretch murmurs. Eyes transfixed on the scene unfolding. The woman pushes her child out of her arms and tells her to run. Meanwhile, enjoying the hunt, Sans walks slowly to them. Knowing his attack struck. It appears slowing movement by attacking the legs of a creature is a signature attack style for him and he relishes in it. 

“Edge!” Stretch says louder. He can’t bare to watch, so he pulls his eyelights from the scene and pleas with the other. “What the fuck?! We finally met other survivors what that fuck is he?! What is he doinG!?” 

Edge steeps in his answer, moving it about his tongue without words. Without sound. Testing a sentence in his head before he speaks. Removing the negativity, removing the hatred, and removing his own opinion from the equation. He answers simply. 

“Sans has to eat.” 

“But.. but people this! It is! I thought you were joking! Is he reALLy gonna Oh my sTars he---!”

“Shush…” Fell places a hand on his shoulder. “ This shouldnt be new to you. He tried to eat you too… remember? Sans is a cannibal. It's been that way for years. And it's okay! You were the one who wanted to save him. Right? So he has to eat. Thats the way it is. “ 

“Thats not fucking okay!”

Stretch scrambles out to stand and falls to the floor, weight pressed on one side of his body. On the ground he realizes he’ll never reach them intime he holds his hands out to summon blue magic and wraps it around Sans soul. It effectively stops him, the smaller skeleton, suddenly bows to the weight of gravity. Crumbling to a knee and tries to fight the magic but its no use. The more he struggles the harder Stretch presses, focussing all his effort into pinning him down. 

Spasms of light emit from his orange colored soul. Like a small carnival sparkler, the light hisses and shoots off in odd directions inside his hoodie. His magic refuses him, but he wont let go despite the pain. His pain was nothing compared to- 

His eyes dart to the woman on the ground. She looks confused to see the smaller skeleton frozen but she doesn’t question it, she uses the moment to try and free herself. First to pull out the bone then again with a rock. Shattering the top knob of the femur off and with a pained grunt slides her leg through the engorged opening. She starts to limp away. Adrenaline, to stay alive. 

Much like Stretch she can’t get very far with one leg. She starts to run, then falls into the dirt and mud and tries to pick herself up again. Scrambling again and again to get further and further away. 

Such determination. 

Even though they share the same crippling disabilities in their legs, the mother exudes more willpower and stamina then Stretch could ever muster. Somewhere deep in the pits of his soul, amongst the awe and appreciation for the mothers unbreakable spirit- he felt a tinge of jealousy. She was so strong. Even while running away. Stretch clenches his fist. His eyes dart to Sans then to the woman, their distance keeps increasing as she makes her way to escape.

“Stop… “ Edge’s foot slides into his view, presses lightly on his knuckles, and blocks out the image of the woman and Red. It blocks out everything,even light. “You’re soul is sparking. You’re hurting yourself.”

“Don’t try to STOP me! I can SAVE her!” 

The weight of Edges foot presses a little deeper, Stretch’s wrist feels the grooves of the floor, scratched against the hard tile but only a small scratch. The weight lets up and those boots walk in front of him and Edge squats down, hands on his thighs and Stretch’s view of the limping woman is literally cockblocked He rolls his neck forward, peering up at the monster in front of him. 

“Don’t do this to yourself. You need to let go.” 

“How can you sound so CALM about this! He’s going to KILL her!” 

“ I know. He did the same thing in my underground. He’s done this for years. And its the only way to keep him alive.” 

Stretch ducks his head down and tries to peer around Edge to get a look at the woman again. Instead he catches a glimpse of the child who hid among the bramble of trees. She never ran. She was still in danger-!!!

“ … Stretch. Look at me. Look. Do you want Sans to live?” 

“Yes! But why can’t they live too-!?” Its hard to focus on holding down Sans when he can barely see his target. He strains his neck to view past the lanky barrier but Edge leans down close to Stretch’s face. Edgy demanded attention, it only added as a bonus that he’d ruin Stretch’s focus by getting close like this. Close enough they could kiss, if this were any other time… any other world. Instead of those four simple words he’s met with, “Kill or be killed. Thats the way its always been in my underground. To survive you have to hurt others.Thats law.” 

“No! Maybe in your shitty world! But not in mine! Not on the surface! Humans and monsters can get along just fine! And they’re alive! Survivors! Like us! And a family! Why would-!” 

Edge has had enough. He picks him up, gripping his waist and carries him like a sack of flour to the bedrooms in the back. 

“EDGY!? EDGE No! NO!! DONT!” 

Each footstep Edge takes towards the back of the house is another foot away from the front door. His view of the woman and child is sustained just long enough for him to see Red get up again. His magic, null. 

“No... “ He whispers the words of defeat, places his hands down where they dangle out in front of him. They turn a corner down a hall, his vision of the doorway completely gone, screams fill the air. “No… Noo… Nooo!” He wasn’t useless! This wasn’t over! Stretch pounds against Edgy’s back. Begging to be returned back to the scene unfolding outside. 

The scenery completely changes when Edge throws him to a bed and closes the door. The room is soundproof, dark. The screaming outside has no impact through the closed windows. The dark blue walls restore a sense of calm. Blue was always calming. 

And yet, even being removed from the action, Stretch couldn’t just sit on the bed while people were murdered outside. He was aware of it! He had to change it, had to do something! “Edgy! You have to stop your bro! He can’t just eat a humanbei-!

“Shush…. Have you read fluffy bunny.” Edge lies down on the bed horizontally and relaxes into the curves of the mattress. The question stunts Stretch. He has no idea how to respond to that. Yes of course he read Fluffy Bunny. Memories of his brother sweep through his mind. Reading that damn book every night. The pictures were always bright and vivid. Sans just liked it because of the beautiful water colorings. But -

“Edge? This isn’t the time!” He twists his head to get a look through the shielded windows. “Stop trying to distract me and help!” A board of wood is nailed across each pane. It blocks even the slightest of light from entering the room. It was pathetic to sit here and wait out the humans death when he could save her. Even if the sound was muted through the walls it wasn’t gone! Just because the sound was lower didn’t mean it wasn’t his problem any more! He had to help! 

He gets to his knees and starts to crawl out of the bed. “When Fluffy bunny had to choose between dying in the cold , or killing the huntsman for his home…. Which did he choose? Which would you choose? “

“Edge... “ Stretch strains, he feels his magic convulsing in his chest. He regrets it now that pain hits him from both his soul and his ankle. His fever hasn’t broken. He was still infected and still in pain. He clenches his side. His nails are ground deep in marrow. He feels blood running through his knuckles. The woman stops screaming, at last and Stretch wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or worried. 

Edge doesn’t try to stop him as he crawls along the floor. He just stares at him openly with a wide look of pity and futility. His voice is calm, level, despite the panic running through Stretch. The stark contrast annoys him. How can Edge be so willfully ignorant of the bs going on outside!?

“Sans is dieing. He always is. For him, this struggle is constant. If he doesn’t eat his hp wont stabilize. He’ll die. You’re the one who wanted him alive. Are you going to deny him? Did you deny your brother?”

That was a low blow. It stops Stretch right where he was. 

He never denied Sans. His little Blueberry… he was his brother in life and death. Stretch did what he needed to. He had to keep him alive, but cannibalism.. It was different when the people he knew were already dead. They didn’t scream… they didn’t run for their lives and cling on to hope for rescue. Dead corpses, dead neighbors… they didn’t talk. They just smeled really- really fuckign bad. 

He’d drag home the corpses to the shed Sans used to play in. the one with the pillars so wide apart from each other it was less a holding cell and more of a clubhouse. Stretch would cut them up there. Small chunks of flesh and meat for his brother to consume and live. Because if Blue berry lived then life was worth living for. He would revive his brother. He would always take care of his brother. 

“It’s not so different. Right?” Edgy mocks him with those words. Stretch wanted to spit in his face. They were anything - but- the same. Their situations ARE different. Stretch wasn’t a murderer he didn’t have an ounce of blood on his hands. 

But that wasn’t true was it?

No. 

No… deep in his memories... His dreams? Perhaps. Or was it - a movie?

It felt real. Felt lived in and full of life, full of expression and action. Too much movement. Too much talking to be a dream. Was it a movie he saw? Perhaps he replaced himself with the main character of Alphys’s anime collection while he was drunk. Drunk. He had been drinking alot in the underground. Not anymore. He had no reason too- was there ever a reason?

Oh right. There was. Memories. Memories of what? Dreams? Nightmares? 

KILLING THE HUMAN AGAIN AND AGAIN AT THEIR SPAWN POINT AS HE THREATENED THEM, BEGGING FOR A RESET. BEGGING FOR AN END. 

An end to his life? An end to the games. And torment. And the headless figure of his brother that haunted him. Yes- there was blood. So much blood. So surprising… odd… humans didn’t dust like monsters. How could he dispose the body? How to hide it and resume his normal life again? He dug a shallow grave in the snow. Dumped the human into the lake, contorted their tiny form into trash bags and left them outside of Muffet’s dumpster. Again and again… it filled him with panic to want to evade the body being found until he just fucking gave up. … A reset would happen within hours. 

He would sit at Muffets and drink the night away in a stupor of sweet diabetic intoxication and his favorite hard bourbon. Not that cheap stuff. It didn’t matter. The bill never came. Tomorrow never came. Sans never came back…

Except he did. 

So it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. It was all in his mind. An illusion of his tired mind. He didn’t have blood on his hands. Not a single lvl to his name. And it would stay that way! Violence was never the answer and he would not stand to see a sweet innocent mother and child struck down by a Sans imposter!!

His purpose, refound, he used the side of the bed to stand up. And walk. And fall face first back down to the ground as pain jolted up his spine. 

“Dont hurt yourself…” He hears Edge mumble. “You don’t have much time left as it is…. Exerting your body might just-...” He goes oddly silent. 

Stretch sat up against the bed, the screaming had stopped and now all he heard was the pounding in his head. It ached. Bombs cascading down inside his cranium… bombs. 

“Edge.” His voice is low too. Hurt from screaming. “I forgot… about the bombing. Heh… Nyeh heh… guess I was over reacting for nothing. It's pointless… right? The wet of tears starts to pool inside his chest. It washes over his grimy face and sweeps down each rib as a waterfall on the rocks. “They’re going to purge the virus… we didn’t get out of the states in time. We… we didn’t make it.”

“What are you crying about? Damnit, are you angry or sad?! Pick an emotion….”

“THE BOMBS!” Stretch shouts. “The aerial FUCKING bombardment to purge the virus…” His voice hurts. He isn’t sure whether he wants to fuckign scream or cry. Edgy was right, but dammit- he couldn’t deal with this right now! He was always the older brother! Always having to downplay incidents no matter how bad things got so Sans wouldn't worry. When the fuck did he get to breakdown and just let it all out!?

Sans wasn’t around anymore. There wasn’t any need to keep up the strong big brother persona anymore. There was only him. Weak Papyrus. Wounded, crippled, bound by duct tape, unable to use his magic. Useless. 

“Its okay, crybaby.” Edge slides off the mattress and sits with him on the floor. His arms envelop him in a large hug. Comforting… trusting… it feels different than the times he is carried by Edgy. Edge lowered his guard, offered up his neck as a place where Stretch could cry and cry and cry… “We’re gonna live, Idiot. Kay? There's nothing to worry about. We’re gonna nuke the fridge.” 

“Heh… what the hell are you talking about Edge?”


	7. Panic, Puppy, and Paps

His head hurt.  
  
From all the nonsense of screaming and crying… from all the bullshit of dealing with someone’s sociopathic brother … from fighting against Edgy’s strong grip with his own ineffective weak ass punches … Stretch’s head hurt.   
  
The inside of his skull panged with an insistent throb of pain, a twitch, that ran down to the lower left side of his eye socket. He was physically and mentally exhausted. He couldn’t muster up the tears to cry anymore, he just felt like his pupils were going to disappear forever into the black of his skull. Unless he kept them open, lit and focused. So he focussed on only that, staring outwards, despite his head drooping and eyes blurry. His magic felt exhausted, his stomach growled in despair…he didn’t want to deal with this right now. The weight in his mind, the burden of truth, and responsibilities of their party. He just wanted to go the fuck to sleep.  
  
(Maybe when he woke this would all be a dream…)  
  
(Or even better, maybe he wouldn’t wake. )  
  
(Maybe the virus would consume him in his sleep and he could pass on painlessly and without even knowing he had ever gone. That might be nice. )  
  
… Instead, he sat in this foreign bedroom with Edgy. Waiting, like a toddler who had heard his first poop joke, with a half smirk on his jaw. Waiting for the best joke ever. ‘We’re going to Nuke the fridge.’ Edgy said and then he was quiet. QUIET!  
  
Not one peep out of him for a whole two minutes! In that short suspense of time kept in waiting, Stretch could have sworn whole seasons had passed since an update.  
  
So he sat, waiting for some explanation or punchline to this joke that never quite came. ... And yet the inside of his mind was reeling at the fact that just outside the bedroom, just outside the small farmhouse, just a couple dozen feet from the front yard-  
  
Sans was eating a human.  
  
…  
  
…  
  
And so, more time passed. And more time. And soon the beating of his soul was too loud in his chest. Stretch looked up at Edgy, through a flurry of snot and tears, and saw the other was talking.  
  
Talking with his mouth moving inaudibly. … An uncanny image of Edge, jagged teeth moving back and forth with what appeared to be words… or mastication.  
  
Stretch could see it now; the image of Edge drowned in blood. Lavishing in it, it was his natural element. A fear erupted in Stretch, a blurred part of his mind deluded by the nightmarish screams he’s heard just moments earlier. He didn’t move from the bed, but he tensed as the silent scene of his friend continued to play out.  
  
Bloody soaked teeth shredding through meat and bone like tissue paper- That’s what Edgy looked like. That’s what Stretch knew was going on outside.  
  
(That he was eating a human!)  
  
He’d seen it in Alphy’s animes a dozen times; insisted!- she keeps it away from his bro because of even he- as the older brother! No less- couldn’t tolerate that kind of violence with ketchup squirting in every direction.   
  
But he knew the truth now… the last few months had drilled that into his bones.  
  
Real blood wasn’t like the cartoons. It didn’t have the viscosity of ketchup. It didn’t have the bright vivid color of tomato paste. Real blood didn’t drip. It bled. Like the very same word intended it to. It flowed like a leaky hose that had been left on. It gushed from a cut artery with the force of a sprinkler. Its smell was metallic, and rotted with time like the garbage and salt of urine in the subways. It flaked and turned orange. It scabbed and bloomed bright as the eyes of Edge. Edge. Oh.  
  
(What the hell was Edge saying?)  
  
Stretch focused again, his mind drifting, his eyes swollen. “Edgy…”Stretch called, but his own voice had no sound. Sore from yelling and crying, his voice had no sound but he had to persist even if he couldn’t hear himself. “Edge, I can’t hear you. -Can’t hear me.”  
  
And suddenly the dramatic image of a blood-drenched monster fell flat. There was only Edgy. Edgy with his bright red eyes that sparked with magic and scanned over Stretch in an instant. Edgy was distraught, concern awash over his face. Concern for who? For him?  
  
Stretch almost choked on a wet sobbing laugh.  
  
Edgy never cared about him. … To Edge, even his own brother was a waste. In those woods, he would have killed Sans if Stretch didn’t stop him. And then the collar, the great and amazing magic fucking collar that vanished and then appeared and then disappeared again and again.  
  
Stretch was a pet.  
  
A dog.  
  
A companion, bound to his master.  
  
Literally bound because of the duct tape and his own inability to run away.  
  
(And it was eating a human outside.)  
  
But Edgy’s never done anything bad. He’s always been good. Good to Stretch. … But he has done bad stuff to others. His high level, his acclimation to combat, his willingness to kill, even eager to kill his brother… these things were not good. They were not okay. They were the actions and motivations of a deranged monster. Screw the Underfell universe and its laws, Stretch was sure that they were probably freaks in their own underground too.  
  
But Edgy comes closer… dangerously close, laying a gloved hand on his head -close.  
  
And he chews.The delusions returning. Chews words that don't exist, but instead pulls at the meat and bones of the human being consumed outside and tendons pull ApaRt like cheEse and bones snap in HALf like tWiGs- his eyes are red. HIS eyes are red! REd like Blood!- And his fangs are sharp and his cLaWs for HaNDs Make IT so -!!! STRETCH CAN”T BREATH and his EyES, PIERCinG ReD FUCKING EYES SCORN HIM WITH THEIR BeaDY Look OF RAGE AND HUNGER FoR EXPIRIENce. TO KILL TO SAVAGE AND and AND and and and aND and ANd-!!!  
  
“You’re going to be okay. Okay?” Edgy’s voice drifts in like a lullaby.  
  
Stretch heaves a sudden breath and another and another, his ribs shuddering beneath him. Edge approaches, still with his jarring teeth, unplagued by the minds corruption, and Edgy leaves a small chaste skele kiss on Stretch’s brow. Gentle acts without harm or meaning. “You’re okay. -You’re okay.” He repeats like a mantra. And Stretch wonders if he really is okay. If it's okay to feel like this. If it's okay to want to die and live at the same time. And he realizes he can hear again… and the ringing in his skull has died down to a low pitched whine.  
  
“You’re okay.” Edge nudges him to lie back down on the bed, petting his skull between sharpened fingers. Gloves, a small padded buffer between those assaulting digits. Stretch jolts even when he doesn’t mean it. And panic flourishes before he realizes he’s being pushed down into the bed.  
  
This isn’t right. It's not safe. It's not okay! He has to go. He has to escape!-  
  
Edgy brings the blanket up to his neck. “You’re okay.” He says again, wrapping the sickly soft blanket around Stretch. His voice so soft, it is increasingly scary to hear. Stretch weeps openly, feeling the tears pour down his chin without him even blinking the tears to fall. He didn’t think he could cry anymore but he is crying… orange watery magic blobs drip down his face. Tears that delve into the crevices of his mouth and burn his tongue with their salty taste. He whimpers, unable to help the sound as his ribs compress and ache for air.  
  
His eyes feel tired though. So tired of fucking crying.  
  
Edgy kneels by the bedside and pets his skull. “You’re okay.” He continues sweet lullabies. “You’re okay.”  
  
…  
  
…  
  
…  
  
\---------  
Edgy watches as the last bit of light fades from Stretch’s eye sockets. Having finally fallen unconscious from hyperventilation, his breathing begins to somewhat normalize through his sleep.  
  
He exhales a long harrowing sigh through his nasal cavity. “We’re okay.” He assures himself. He strokes the side of Stretch’s skull one last time, lingers to wipe a tear from his cheek, sure that the other wouldn’t wake.  
  
It had been a long time since Edge had dealt with a panic attack. Back when they were kids, Sans would have one every night… even in the day. Comforting words hardly worked back then, the only real thing that got Sans to sleep was squeezing his soul. … He opens his other hand, looking at the small fluttering heart. So pretty and pure, unscathed from battle. Its orange glow pulses with warmth and life. Edge quietly slides the organ back under Stretch’s ribs and waits for it to settle.  
  
Stretch would never know it was gone. It was fine like this. They’d be fine like this.  
  
He eases another breath. He wonders if Sans is done eating about now. It shouldn’t take long to consume a human soul. It was as easy as pulling out one of their own souls, but his brother always did play with his food for too long.  
  
He closes the bedroom door gently closed and walks to the front of the house to check. Far in the field, Sans is stomping in the dirt and rolling around like a pig in mud. Looks like he’s ripped free of his duct tape handcuffs easily and he wriggles joyously in the mush pit to get the smell of it all over his clothes. A small smile crosses Fells face. It had been a long time since he’d seen Sans happy like that. … Even if he was just splashing around in innards.  
  
It reminded him of the lab. … Finding his bro in a glass containment unit and others like him. The menagerie was a sight of beauty. If he was being honest, having each monster displayed inside their own … warped …’environment’… was enchanting. The place was less a testing facility and more of a circus. Maybe that's how the doc amassed funds for his projects.  
  
Stepping out onto the porch, Fell calls out to him for attention. The sound startles Sans. So much so that he is on all fours when he peers over at his brother. Edge sullenly waves at him, partly to appeal to the inner consciousness that lied beneath the layer of instinct and savagery. Sans had reverted back to the primal monster the doc made him. The way he had been trained to survive. It panged Papyrus to see him this way, fully knowing it was his fault. He could have easily taken that human soul, without bloodshed, and fed Sans. Instead, he left the chase to his brother, causing a scene and traumatizing Stretch. He couldn’t ignore him. He couldn’t ignore it.  
  
He couldn’t see it from here, but he assumed San’s health was back at its cap. 200, for now. The following weeks would slowly drain his health from him. And then he would have to hunt again. And again… to endlessly fill the void where his soul should be.  
  
…  
  
“Sans.” Edge calls him. Slowly, as to let the identity sink in for a bit until things synced up. Sometimes a couple minutes was all it took… other times Edge would wait out this bloodlust for hours.  
  
Right now, as he stared back into those hallowed eyes of his brother, he couldn’t tell which one it might be. Then Sans starts forward… running at him on all fours with the speed and ferocity of a lioness on a hunt. If any a time warranted fear from his brother it was now, unsure if Sans was friend or foe. But he holds his ground, remembering he still has an ace up his sleeve for the worst of times.  
  
Sans resembles his former self, covered in blood and intestines, running wild like a beast. Edge readies himself, glove tossed aside and fingers poised at his mouth, but the moment Sans arrives within a foot of him he drags his butt across the ground, into the dirt. There he sits at Paps foot happy and panting like a dog.  
  
After a small hesitation, Papyrus kneels down and pets his brothers head. “Good boy.” He sighs and looks back at the desecrated farm. The sun is long gone from the horizon but the sky still remains aglow with color for now. The fire from earlier still trails smoke in the distance. Fell doesn’t know if it is still blazing or dying down, but it's not his concern anymore.  
  
He takes a second look at his brother, red pierced tongue hanging out his mouth, and eyes darting everywhere and yet begging for attention from Papyrus. He rubs his head into the palm of his hand, eager to be pet. Papyrus lets him do as he pleases, unzipping the muddy and bloody backpack from Sans’s back and looks at the soaked supplies of food. The wrappers of the cans are so saturated they’re peeling off. The food wasn’t contaminated… but it looks like mystery dinners from here on out.  
  
“Sans, you listening?” Edge huffs. He strokes back the skull and looks deep into the lackluster red eyes for any signs of intelligence. “You really fucked up.” He collapses down to the patio steps and sits for a while. “That other me was scared of you. ...I’m scared of you. … the next few days we’re going to have to sit in a damn freezer together and pretend to be civil. … So I need you to sober up. And fast. I can’t be the only one running around, preparing a shelter for us. I need help to move things. I need help from Sans. …”  
  
But Sans isn’t all there. He’s a tamed pup, less than a monster. A dog. And appreciative of the head rub his tongue laps up at the palm of Papyrus’s hand.  
  
Papyrus flinches, reactively punching the mutt square in the jaw. The monster hits the floor and whimpers retreating away in sudden betrayal, the same goes for Edge who also recoils.  
  
Furiously checking for scrapes and cuts on his hand, he grits his teeth together. Angry at himself for removing the gauntlet. Now, his phalanges were exposed to the elements, the weather, and infection. He checks his hand. Then checks again for any open sores, Sans’s saliva could have entered. He runs inside, leaving his bro behind to fend for himself and roll in more mud.  
  
The sink doesn’t turn on fast enough for him. Papyrus taps his foot, impatiently as the water begins to drip and eventually cascade into something he can shove his fist under. But it doesn't last long. As soon as the pressure evens out the water becomes thinner and thinner. Barely giving Papyrus just enough time to wash his hand clean. He scours his palm again. Looking desperately for any infliction of entry.  
  
\---!!!  
  
Not one scrape. He was safe...   
  
Edge falls to a knee beside the sink and clutches his hand. Focussing in on his own breathing. Trying to remain steady and calm. … That was a close call… but he’s okay.  
  
He’s okay…  
  
The smell of the blood from Sans’s fresh kill, wafts in on layers, violating Edge’s nose. He snorts at the smell. Closes his eyes and opens them to find there is a small dolly with her hair braided into buns. That there are dust bunnies and droplets of dried blood and dust. That there are footprints within the layers of smudge and grime. In his moment of relief and calm Edge takes in the full scope of the house, a place once filled with people and realizes that - this place is empty.  
  
With Stretch in the back bedroom unconscious and Red on the patio chasing his ass, Edge might as well have been alone. He was all alone again, surrounded by others but- without anyone he can talk to … or rely on…. On the bright side though, there wasn’t anyone to judge him for crying if he felt like it. His face contorts into a pout, stopping himself from toppling into the same mess of anxiety his double was just moments ago. He has to remain strong. Even if no one saw, he had to keep his cool. He had to act reserved and composed… because if he didn’t. He might actually consider himself lonely. Pathetically alone.  
  
Alone enough to end it all right now.  
  
…  
  
…  
  
And what would happen if Sans did infect him?  
  
Would it be so bad to have a timer on him? The same as Sans, the same as his copy? The same as everyone else left in this fucked up world? He wouldn’t be alone then… he’d be the same fucked up as everyone. He’d have to stop trying to hard and maybe he could just… give up. Fucking rest for the last few days he had. Survival be damned… he’d have fun.  
  
… At least he’d know he wouldn’t be alone when he goes, that there's no one left he cares about who would get hurt when he turns. -That they would all turn together… and wander the streets until bombs blew them up into countless chunks of meat and dust. …  
  
...  
  
…  
  
“Fucking hell -”  
  
The curse from the patio sets Papyrus off. He stands up, collecting himself at once and wipes away the small sniffles that have started to ebb at his throat.  
  
“I’m in here Sans. - Get your stupid ass in here and help.” He swallowed a lump in his throat and wiped his hand on his pant leg.  
  
“Hey… I found your shitty glove. Hmm… nope! No hand in it! Did I tear off your arm? Bet I did.”  
  
“Psh..” Edge chuckles, glad for the banter to distract him. “Guess you’re not completely back, must have lost some brain cells if you think you can beat me in any fight.”  
  
The Fells meet each other by the front door, exchange the glove with the grace of a treaty between two nations and quietly, decisively, leave their shit talk for later. Not wanting to address what happened in his lack of lucidity.  
  
Little was absorbed into Sans at that state of mind, but he recognizes when Papyrus needs help. He strips from his soddy clothes and walks around in nothing but boxers. Somewhat sobered from his bloodlust, he asks what he can do to help.  
  
This was a farm. A place once filled with poultry, livestock, and crops. They both know of the entry to the basement. They had seen the cellar door from the outside of the house. While on his quest to ensure the house was secure, Papyrus had checked downstairs to find the giant freezer storage. He’d noted small flecks of blood in odd places. Not on the walls or floor but instead handprints smeared on crates or the handle of the fridge… the rest had been flushed down the drainage. The evidence of any squabble - gone.  
  
Only frozen cow chunks remained hung there. Dripping and defrosting, the cuts are exposed to air. It wouldn’t be edible but Papyrus never expected to get food here anyway. This stop was purely so that Sans could hunt a meal. It was a bonus that this place could work as a shelter for them. The walls were thick and there was space enough for all three of them to sleep. If they were going to stay here, they would need blankets and food… lots of it.  
  
The alternative would be to keep driving, not knowing if they could reach a safety checkpoint in time. Not knowing what detours they would meet on the road. It was stupid to sit and wait for their demise… but even stupider to keep moving forward without a plan. Maybe the fridge would hold. It would have to. He’d promised that to his other self.  
  
That they would get through this together.  
  
That he would find him a cure.  
  
So Red and Edge started stacking pillows and blankets down into the freezer, moving what little-canned food they found in the kitchen down there too, water, books, bandages, a couple empty jars for a piss and some stupid ass board games to bide their time. They found a small handheld cranked radio to use there too. Finally, saving the bedroom for last, Edge carried Stretch downstairs while Sans striped the last of the pillows and blankets from the bed.  
  
Stretch was placed down gently, still unconscious. As Sans brought the last of their provisions downstairs. A muddy as fuck book bag and some random garbage bags full of human clothing too big for any of the skeletons, but it would keep them warm.   
  
“Anything else you can think of?” Sans asks, but he’s already thrown himself down onto the self-made bean bag chair of clothing, with no further plans to get up or help. Edge shakes his head, acknowledging his lazy brother had done enough for now and that the only thing they could do now was to wait.   
  
“Start the radio, I haven’t heard it in a while.” Edge drums his fingers on the door, sealing all four of them inside. 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ last time someone told me a bit about how farms function :> so thanks for that. I don't have the comment saved but it made me curious and I looked up some videos on farmwork and did some volunteer work over at one. I didn't update the chapter with the new information, but I still wanted to say thanks to that person! :3


	8. Day One

“Well… hopefully this door will hold.” Edge rubbed at his shoulders, shivering for a moment from the leftover chill of the meat locker. Even though the electricity had been shut off the place was caked in a layer of shaved ice on top of metal, it kept everyone… fresh, to say the least.  
  
The room was a small 10 x 10 cube, only 5 steps away from touching any wall. It was bigger than the average prison padded cell, but with all of them sharing the cramped space it wouldn’t be long until someone snapped.  
  
Red was the top contender for that, already he was showing signs of being stir crazy. He hated being in a cage, perhaps for good reason. Though he didn’t outwardly show panic or distress every ten seconds he would sigh out loud, begging for attention. Sans would stretch his arms out over his head, then behind his back, then onto his lap. Then he’d swing his arms round and round like a windmill, unable to sit still.  
  
Or perhaps he purposely did it to irritate his brother. Edgy was looking rather… well, Edgy for lack of a better word. Named aptly so- for the scowl burned permanently onto his forehead. If Sans didn’t snap, Edge was about too. The skeleton crumpled his knuckles, prepared to knock some sense into the annoyance to his left.  
  
Then there was Stretch, who cautiously glances between both brothers. Nervous about a whole lot.  
  
First of all… he had no clue how he got here. But at this point in their journey that wasn't too uncommon. He had been fainting and waking up in new places for a little more than a month since Edgy and him began traveling. The blackouts had, thankfully, reduced and another boon was that he wasn’t spitting up teeth anymore. It seemed to only affect his back molars and canines so far, but despite the effects stilling Stretch bitterly accepted the fact the virus still coursed through his body.  
  
This brief calm he felt was just the eye in the center of the storm. At any moment, he could relapse into a different stage or skip a stage all together. The fear of that happening swept through every fiber of his being at once.  
  
What if he changed? What if he became part of the undead- like the monsters and humans that wandered outside? Right now, this would be the absolute worst place for it to happen. Stretch stares out at the brothers, they’re his only mental stability left and it dawned on him he was a threat to their safety. Edgy and Red were trapped in the room with him! If the worse were to happen… there would be no escape…  
  
“STOP POKING ME, SANS!”  
  
“M’not touching ya!”  
  
“You’re trying to PISS ME OFF!”  
  
“I’m aint trying to do nuthin!”  
  
For now he had his sanity… so he tried not to think of ‘what if’ scenarios. Stretch shook his head of the dark thoughts that plagued him and tried to look at the brothers without the same pitiful loss. He missed his own Sans, and watching the two Fells argue was reminiscent of his own childish fights with Sans.  
  
Ha, Stretch bit back mellow tears and remembered; _poking his brother between commercials, with goofy sound effects and fart noises, and he made Sans laugh so hard that afterwards his little bro would pout he couldn’t hear his show and put up a pillow fort so he could watch his cartoons_. The two Fell brothers were very much the same, only their conversations seemed to end with violence and cursing. Even though it felt disruptive and against his own morals, Stretch felt like part of the gang. Right now his whole world was just Edgy and Red and nothing could possibly ruin the playful mood the brothers have -  
  
“achuu~”  
  
  
…  
  
  
… Stretch pauses. Stuck, bundled warmly between a pile of pillows and blankets, it takes him a while to turn his head towards the sound. Greeting him was a long dribble of snot. The mucus drips down from the child’s nose as if it were a bungee jumper. It dangles in and out of her nostril, ready to escape but she disgustingly rubs it into the sleeve of her sweater. Then returns back to eating her can of beans.  
  
“Bleshu..” Stretch mumbles. He stares at the child oddly. Blinks. Unsure of what he was seeing. He turns his head back towards the brothers, but they are oblivious to the child.  
  
_‘Oh_ ,’ Stretch thought, ‘ _It’s a delusion of the mind… stage four.’_ Stretch tuts his teeth together… thinking the virus has already spread to his brain... Or rather, for monsters of his type, the depths of his soul.  
  
He was pretty sure that was the case until Red shouted ‘shut up meat’ at a child. In that moment, he knew it was real. That _she_ was real… and, like the hammer of a gun clicking into place, everything lined up for the perfect shot in Stretch’s mind. An explosion of truth fired through his brain at once.  
  
The loss of the mother.  
The child left behind.  
His failure.  
Edgy’s betrayal.  
Red’s hunger.  
_Their_ temper.  
_Their_ calmness.  
  
_Their_ normality behind murder…  
  
That foggy sensation, waking up to a new place, was gone -replaced with the panic of one who had been kidnapped. Rather than feeling like part of the group, rather than felling he was on an adventure with Edgy… this felt like a hijack - an unfamiliar ride he had no control in. His decisions didn’t count. His opinions didn’t matter. He had no strength to protect anyone! He was pathetic and useless!! What was he doing here? Why couldn’t he have more control of his life?! Why couldn’t he-  
  
“Oh, good morning, Peaches.” Stretch nods his head, numb to the new nickname. Numb to everything going on at this point. The turmoil in his head only exists there. In his head. And if he showed it, he’d only hurt himself, his words would never reach the other two. His panic would fall on deaf ears. So he remained quiet, keeping his anguish to himself.  
  
The pinpricks of magic that made up his eyes are only fixated on the child beside him. She’d be about Blue’s age. Maybe…? Did humans age the same way as monsters? For sure, she was a child. Like Frisk, this human is also short and doesn't talk. Though, that was possibly from the trauma she had gone through.  
  
With a bright pink face, she is a sniveling mess of snot and tears. Continuously she keeps wiping mucus into her overly large knitted white sweater. She held the can of beans in two hands, hands that were duct taped.  
  
Just like his own.  
  
She was just as much a prisoner here as Stretch. Both of them were here against their will.  
  
Her hair is full of branches and twigs but tied into pigtails, one drooping unevenly lower than the other. She wore a checkered red and black pleated skirt from a school uniform and a white t-shirt beneath the sweater. It didn’t look very warm, especially in this chilly place… wherever this was.  
  
“Where…” Stretch drifts off into a light hum. He turns to Edge, looking for the only person he can trust in this room. Edgy was brutal.. More brutal that he first thought… but at least he didn’t lie. “Where are we? What happened? Where is this?”  
  
The Fell brothers stop their sibling squabble. Edge unclenches a fist aimed at his brother’s jaw and Red stops ‘almost’ touching his brother, lowering his pointer finger to instead poke up his nose. He flicks a booger onto a cardboard box and answers before Edge can even think of where to start. “We’re in hell.” He guffufles a laugh before Edge smacks him hard across the ribs.  
  
“Shut up idiot.” Edge paces a foot across the room and kneels down in front of Stretch to explain. He talks about the aerial bombings taking place all over the country and how they had run out of time to escape by car. He talks about the farm, and the meat locker they discovered below the farmhouse. He talks about the provisions they’ve been able to save and how they’ll have to endure for a few days down here.  
  
Carefully, to ensure Stretch stayed as calm as possible, he doesn’t mention that staying in this meat locker wasn’t going to guarantee their safety. This was a complete gamble he had made at the last minute. The fridge definitely isn’t sturdy enough to be hit by a direct blast. If it were a couple miles away maybe they’d be safe. It was the best he could hope for, staying above ground seemed stupid.  
  
Then again… hopefully there wouldn’t be any attack in their direction. To clear out the most of the zombies, populated city areas would likely be targeted because of dark narrow streets where the undead would be grouping together.  
  
So far, they had been lucky to not run into any. It’s been easy to avoid a slow shambling zombie and Edge was cautious enough to stay out of stupidly crowded areas. If they could survive this human bombing experiment, then there was nothing to worry about. Ever. Everything would be fixed, everything would be normal. Edge just hoped the fridge would hold and he tried to sound positive.  
  
Not that Stretch was listening. As Edge brought him up to speed on what happened, Stretch’s attention was drawn elsewhere. He wanted to know about the woman. He’d tried so hard to save her… and Red still chased after her. Now she was missing. He wasn’t an idiot, he could guess what happened after he’d knocked out. Red was back at full health… and they were down one party member.  
  
Red was happily sleeping now. Where his brother had last smacked him Red lies on the floor and just took a nap in that place. He seriously just slept on the floor, not using a single blanket or pillow. . It doesn’t look very comfortable, but he doesn't wake.  
  
“-The radio is running on some low batteries but it has a good signal. So for now we’re only using the radio every other hour. I don’t know how long it will last us, so I don’t want to over use it.”  
  
Edgy is still speaking, listing off the things they’ve brought down here to survive. Stretch nods his head, scratching his leg with an absent minded sigh. There was a faint pounding on the side of his temples, familiar to the sensation of a hangover.  
  
Stars, it had been a long time since he had a drink. Regardless of the numb throb across his skull he thinks of how nice it would be to down shot after shot of even the cheapest bourbon. Anything would do to escape this waking nightmare.  
  
Tremors wrack against the inside of his skull, filling the void with the relentless sound of cannon fire. Holding the side of his head, he’s unsure if the sensation would pass. It shook through every rib and up the discs in his spine.  
  
Actually… were those tremors real?  
  
“Edge? Where are we? -?” Nausea rolled through his sentence like a yawn, bobbing him back and forth. Edge sucked in a breath, trying to be patient and began to repeat his story. He started to talk about how they had taken shelter beneath the farm, but there is a displaced look in the honey glazed eyes across from him. When Edge recognizes the look he stops at once, quickly moving to catch the skeleton as he starts to fall forward. He’s able to catch the other before he hits his head.  
  
Edge tut his teeth together. A normal monster would have become a zombie by now, skeletons didn’t exactly have an immune system to fight back. But he was somewhat relieved it was just blackouts for now. It was hard to be happy about how his friend’s disease was retrograding back and forth between less severe symptoms. His relief is short lived. Fell’s brow falls heavily when he realizes what has just happened.  
  
Once again, he was left alone.

  
A stuttering breath passes his teeth, trembling his bottom lip. Truly alone. The silence was something that was going to drive him insane one of these days. It wasn’t true silence, but the sound produced was an unnerving hollow combination of his own quaking breath and theirs, scarcely punctuated with the ground rumbling at every impact outside. It beat hard against the ground like thunder, a rumble without sound or cause. Luckily it was still far.

  
Maybe, Edge thought, this was a good time to get rest. If he slept like the rest of his party did, he wouldn’t even know if he died in his sleep. That might be nice. Besides, when was the last time he slept? Being the only responsible and sick free adult around here Edge had to drive for long periods of the day and keep watch over two idiots at night.  
His alternate looked so peaceful spread out among pillows and blankets. Beautifully framed among colorful fluffy clouds. Edge bent down to a knee, then the other, until he was flush against the cradle of sheets calling him for rest. The silence was good for one thing, sleep. His eyelids drooped low. The flare of his red iris starting dwindling. He laid his head beside Stretch and smiled, content to fall asleep beside the other…

  
…But a tiny cough suddenly shook those sleepy thoughts from him. Edge sprang up, looking directly at the human tucked away in the corner of the room, knees pressed to her chest.  
He’d forgotten about her. Well, to be honest, he tried not to think about her. It.

  
It was emergency food. Nothing more than a wild animal.

  
But she was still an enemy, and Edge wouldn’t be able to get any sleep with the child so close. The girl might be smart enough to kill one of them while their guards were down. Sure, it would wake the other two… but Edge couldn’t risk that. Not when he finally had things precious enough to protect.

  
So he stayed up, staving off sleep and nodding every now and then while the silence consumed them. The meat locker was supposed to keep in the chill, even with its innards cleaned of ice and frozen chunked meat the box still remained frigid. He stole one of the many blankets for himself. Shrouded in warmth he felt a pang of guilt for the fleshy child shivering in the corner. Reluctantly, he kicked a blanket towards her. She was wary of it at first and the false kindness from a monster, but she gladly accepted the warmth of wool.

  
Also he tossed a crumpled blanket at Sans or whatever. The idiot fell asleep on the floor away from them and Edge could care less if the lazy bones froze. That thing wasn’t his brother anymore and he didn’t feel like getting up to check on him.

  
~*~*~*~*~

  
The next couple hours were more or less the same, dotted with sniffles and snores and Edge drifting off to sleep only to snap awake with a jolt. He tried to keep busy. He counted the tremors and he tinkered with the radio, contemplating whether or not he should turn it on yet.

  
He plucked the dirt out of his boots. Flicking crumbs of mud off elsewhere to hear the pitter patter of it falling against the metal. He pulled out a gray collar, the color matching his ashen bones, from his jacket and held it against Stretch’s neck. But it didn’t look right.

  
For a long time Edge just sat and caressed the side of Peaches skull while he slept. With each caress he felt a stronger urge to protect his alternate and a sinking feeling that he was running out of time. A collar wasn’t going to help and holding onto past childish impulses weren’t helping either.

  
Edge crumpled the leather collar in his hand, hating its existence but found himself staring at Sans again. Perhaps it was time to return this curse to its rightful place. He stood up and knelt beside the thing that called itself Sans.

  
Papyrus hadn’t really had a chance to accept his older brother back in his life. He still denied it, but the monster before him… He looked well. Sans was healthy. Also alive… so that was… good. Edge mournfully sighed and sat on the floor next to him.

  
Sans had found a way to survive on his own and Edge was truly surprised at how far his brother had come since they split ways. Sans was actually coherent and thinking for himself. That was an improvement… he supposed.

  
But it wasn’t much, Sans’ thoughts were still ruled by pure pleasure and instinct. If he wasn’t such a horny bastard that raped Stretch -they probably never would have met again. And Edge was glad they met again...it was just was an odd thing to be thankful for. The events that made Sans impulsive enough to rape a monster and lead them to where they were now- barely talking to each other, were hardly something to be thankful for.

  
Sans hurt his friend, drawing a bigger divide between them than if he’d just randomly met them by the street. Maybe then he could have repaired their relationship. Ultimately, it was Stretch who fostered any kinship between the brothers. His talk of mercy and begging not to leave a monster behind was the only reason Edge didn’t abandon that half-witted monster out there to die. It was the only reason he was able to meet up with his brother again.

  
He pulled Sans around by his shoulder, careful of the cracked skull, and began to flutter out the blanket to completely cover him. In some way… this was still his brother. To care for him was natural… at least… it was easier when Sans wasn’t awake to argue. Edge clasped the dumb gray in place around the vertebrae making up his neck. It slid in place like it had always been there.  
Edge tut his teeth together, he sunk back down to the floor with a defeated sigh. He had a sliver of hope that something in Sans’ voice and actions would be akin to the real Sans. But what even was ‘the real Sans’ after so much time had passed? He’d spent so much of his life being angry and bitter... maybe it was time to forgive and forget and move on? Its not like any of them were guaranteed to live long on this surface. Perhaps humoring his own fears of being blown up any moment, the thudding of explosives outside, Edge wanted to make up with his brother. It was hard to do while the skeleton was asleep…

  
Like with Stretch, Edge brought up his hand to pet at his skull. Just a small comfort as he slept. He was careful to avoid the cracked part of skull. It had healed, somewhat, but even after all these years, it still looked so painful… he still remembered that night.

  
~~~

  
_The night Sans came home with a chunk of his skull missing he had just collapsed against the front door and fell asleep. Too exhausted to go to his room, or even greet his little brother. The wound was already seared along the cracks and his employer had sent him home like that, half dead and stumbling alone in the city that wanted him dead. The child back then was unsure if Sans would survive the night. He cried by his brothers side, unable to do anything more than keep his temperature down with a cool rag._

  
_He might as well have died there. Slowly, Sans became less and less of himself. Eventually, he stopped coming home all together. When Pap found him again, months later, and freed him from his cage Sans was a changed monster. He lept out and attacked Papyrus._

  
_His own brother, with nothing in his eyes and blood covering his teeth, attacked him._

  
Papyrus traced a finger along the crack, careful not to disturb Sans.

  
_Beyond the glass window, the tiny skeleton came to realize the monster Sans had truly become. So he tried to think like a beast. Maybe he was just hungry. Maybe he didn’t mean to attack Papyrus…_  
_So he found a scientist’s lunchbox, a pbj sandwich and carrot sticks, and dumped it through the slot in the wall. No reaction._

  
_Warily, Papyrus got raw steak from the freezer and pushed the bloody meat through the slot. No reaction either._

  
_A single black box, filled with fallen monster souls in a half dead half live stasis, was the only thing that sated his hunger. The souls would temporarily fill his own ribcage as a replacement for his own until his hunger drove him wild again._

  
_He was docile when he had eaten. Calm enough so that Papyrus was able to take the leash and walk him home… like a goddamn pet. His brother wouldn’t come when called. He had to whistle to gain his attention._

  
_They went back to the house, Sans straining at every new turn to break away from the leash. He wanted to run and play in the snow and walked on all fours. He would bite through the clothes that Papyrus dressed him in. He would whimper in his sleep and howl at night._

  
_Eventually whatever drugs he was on wore out. But the instinct remained. He started to become more lucid. He knew Pap. He tried to pretend like things didn’t happen. He tried to make Pap breakfast, but would stare off at the distance, hearing voices and commands… distracted, he would burn everything he cooked._

  
_Sometimes he would regress back to that sad state and Papyrus spent weeks trying to train Sans like the animal his brother was. …But treats didn’t work. The only treat Sans ever reacted to- was the allure of a fresh soul and that-, that was terrifying._

  
_Some nights when Sans howled in hunger, the existence of his makeshift soul also being digested by his magic, he would claw at Papyrus’ door. Trying to get inside… trying to get an easy meal. Papyrus slept with his door locked and an eye open the whole night, curling the pillow around his skull to block out the sounds. In the morning, the door was filled with scratch marks and blood stains. Sans’ fingers worn raw by the repeated clawing._

  
_Papyrus took on this responsibility to save his brother; so he had to take to action. He couldn’t let his brother hurt himself anymore… or allow the beast to eat him. He would find a weak prey… someone who wouldn’t be missed. The homeless, an orphan, a Temmy that reproduced by the dozens… he would kill them in cold blood, tearing away just enough of the flesh to keep them still alive. He’d drag the mangled bodies back to the shed, and lead Sans out that way to eat what was left of them. Papyrus would get the final killing blow and lvl, Sans would eat their soul.-Playing in the blood and dust as the body failed to hold the monster together… Papyrus allowed it, it was necessary to keep his brother alive. Even if he was appalled at what he had to do. This cannibalism couldn’t be stopped, or he’d loose the last strand of his family._

  
_Food wasn’t a reward, it was a necessity. So no amount of ‘treats’ rewarding good behavior ever worked. The beast wasn’t inclined to listen to Papyrus when he could hunt on his own, being fed was a bonus. He roamed the house, king of his castle, growled at Papyrus for entering the same room as him and broke whatever he wanted. He was spoiled._

  
_The mutt was impossible to be around, and he could practically smell the fear from the tiny skeleton. Rewarding good behavior had made his pet’s ego over inflated. So the only thing to do was to punish Sans for the bad behavior, train his pet through fear and subjugation._

  
_The first time it was easy, when Sans peed on the carpet he would get a slap on the wrist and a firm no! But the mutt didn’t like that. It bit back, and Papyrus had to intensify the strikes. He had to make sure that on some iota of the monsters brain he understood not to bite him. Not to attack Papyrus._

  
_Pats turned into slaps, slaps into punches, eventually just waving his fist was enough to make the mutt whimper and bow his neck. And when the lucid brother returned to the surface, he wouldn’t talk about the abuse._

  
_He felt he deserved it. He remembered trying to bite, trying to kill his little brother. They talked about it only once. The first real dinner they had together in years, sat across the table from each other as Pap made pasta again, the only dish the child knew how to make by just boiling water. San’s tearful confession of consciousness and guilt and being unable to control himself…_

  
_He wanted to talk about what the doctor did to him, about the experiments and what he was forced to endure just for a stupid pay check. A paycheck that would cover their bills for years to come and yet, his eyes would always cloud up and fade when he recalled the labs. He pet the collar gingerly, a relic from his last master._

  
_Papyrus threw it away one day, trying to get rid of the past so they could move forward. His unhealthy obsession with being owned was taking a toll on his mental state._

  
_It made Papyrus think that maybe… maybe Sans preferred being incoherent. Maybe he preferred to be the animal and not the monster._

  
_Sans only got worse when it was gone. He tore through the house in a horrified panic. Clawing through the sofas and destroying pillows and blankets as if it were hidden inside, he would tear up the garbage bags and dig through the snow for hours. He knew the collar had to be around and it could be inside of anything! At one point Sans’ warped mind thought it was inside his own bone. So he clawed at his neck and arms… Papyrus had to return it before his brother bled out more._

  
_Papyrus had grown accustomed to the cheap collar, coming to terms with the fact it would always be around or else Sans would go berserk. But he had to change its meaning, so it wouldn’t be such a burden._

  
_Only good boys got to wear this collar. He finally had leverage of a reward against the skeleton. But rather than being a mercy over their last method, it was a tortuous experience for Sans. It did more damage to his mind to be away from something he loved so preciously. He would scream just from being away from it. Papyrus felt a twinge of envy, being less important than the leather strip._  
_“When you’re good, you’ll get this back.” Papyrus warned. “When we go out, you’ll walk with me. Upright. On two legs.” The skittish monster would agree, panting and whining. And Papyrus would clasp the collar around his neck again, a soft kiss on his head and a whispered promise. “I’ll keep you safe, please come back, Sans.”_

  
_But as time passed, ‘Sans’ showed up less and less._

  
_To the rest of the underground, Sans looked nervous- always turning left and right at every sound (searching for something to chase), stumbling around and tripping over his own feet (uncomfortable when he wasn’t on all fours), walking subservient behind Papyrus (because he followed whoever held his leash), quiet and afraid to speak (because he simply couldn’t. words forgotten). The truth was, he was still a mutt mascaraing as one of them and Papyrus had no clue how to get him back. His methods to restrain the animal were subduing the monster as well. Training the mutt meant that the mutt had more control…_

  
_“Pap?” He spoke one day. Papyrus turned around so quickly he got whiplash. Those brief moments of Sans were so -SO- rare to come by anymore. How many months had it been? How many years? “Wow, you’re getting so tall…” Papyrus shook when he heard that. His soul trembled; it was a moment he would never forget. Tears started pooling up in his eye sockets, he kept shaking without being able to stop, swept up in the emotion of hearing Sans’ voice again. …Seeing Sans again. Though he had seen him every day._

  
_“Pap, I don’t think I should be here, ya know?” He unclasped his collar, the one thing that meant anything to him in this world, and laid it on the kitchen table. “If I stay here…” Sans never said it, but they both knew. The stripped wooden door upstairs was wearing thin, they couldn’t function like this forever. One night… the door might break and- The air was heavy with that ominous thought._  
_But it didn’t matter! Papyrus ran over to him, hugging him immediately and falling into his big brothers arms. He was only two inches taller than him, but he was still and always would be Sans’ little brother. He needed him!_

  
_“Please don’t go!” Papyrus pleaded. “I’m not going to get hurt. I can take care of myself! And … you’re not doing bad… you’re making really good progress brother. You’ve stopped growling… and um…”_

  
_“… Get away from me.” Sans pushed him, harder than he meant too, and Papyrus fell hard onto his tailbone. It set a precedence for the rest of their relationship. Confused and hurt, Papyrus sat on the kitchen floor unsure of what just happened._

  
_“…I shouldn’t be here.” Sans said again, growing bolder. He dug his nails into his own palms, gripping his fist closed as tight as he could. “…I’m not your fucking pet.” Sans ground his teeth. Papyrus could see through that in an instant. Sans was hurting. “…You’re always getting in my way, setting rules and trying to restrain me like some… MOnStEr!” The screech hurt his head._

  
_Where did this anger come from?_

  
_“I’m leaving! …Don’t follow me.” He turned and stormed out for the front door, leaving Papyrus to clamber up from the floor and chase him._

  
_“You don’t mean that!” He yelled back. “I can take care of us! You don’t have to push me away and lie!!!” He reached out for Sans’ hand but he’s only met with a brute elbow to his ribs._

  
_“ I need my own space!” Sans huffed, he knew tough love was the only way to separate them. “I don’t need your stupid ass following me!... I don’t need you. I HATE you! LEaVe Me thE FUAK ALOonE!”_  
_He slammed the door in his little brothers face. They hadn’t seen each other since then. Rumors of monsters disappearing, eaten, surfaced across the underground. Papyrus had an inkling of where to find his brother but despite his searches he couldn’t meet him again._

  
_When the door on the surface opened he heard about a melding of energy so big from the seal that worlds had merged into one. The mountain was a highway off a multiverse and the surface was the place everyone was meeting. He thought he would meet Sans there again._

  
_He’d met some other Sans’. One that winked at him and flirted, way past what Papyrus was comfortable with. And another copy that was waaaaaay too tall and big boned and went by the name ‘daddy’ instead of brother. He hadn’t seen his Sans on the surface… he thought maybe the other was happier living alone in the underground. Or perhaps he was dead._

  
_Sans had always been dead in a way. Since that first night he came home with his skull bashed in. The skeleton was never the same. Papyrus learned to live with that fact. He accepted his brother was dead. He didn’t care for the monster that shunned him… even if he knew why he was pushed away._

  
_Minutes of his brother back, couldn’t make up for the years of loneliness, abuse, and fear that filled that house. Fear he would be eaten, fear he could hurt Sans. Fear Sans would hurt him…_

  
That scar on his skull healed so much over the years he was away. Papyrus had to wonder if the gaps that filled it in had also filled the gap in his memory. The gap in his personality between monster and… savage. Maybe in a couple more years, if the wound continued to heal, Sans would be normal again. Whole. Maybe. 

  
Papyrus tucked the blanket over his bro and boredly resumed his task of idly plucking lint off his shirt and pants… counting the hours until someone woke to relieve him of his watch.

  
~*~*~*~*~

  
Stretch was the first to wake up, some ten odd hours later. He shot upright and resumed talking as though he’d never passed out. It takes him a moment to discover Edge is missing, and now sitting across the room. It takes him another moment to put together what happened.

“… Did I faint again?” Edge nods, but doesn’t say much. He was already reaching his limit and setting a whole new record for not sleeping. He crawls over to Stretch and collapses on the makeshift bed beside him, throwing his arms above his head to block out the incandescent light from the ceiling.

“…Where… is this? …nn…again?” Stretch’s unsure voice is calmer now. He seems reasonable enough that Edge decides to explain it for a third time with a long sigh.

“A meat locker, underneath the farm…” He hums. “We’ll stay here for a day or two… or three…. And then get back on the road… assuming the car is still there.”

Dreading the answer, he asks once again. “What about… the girl?”

They look at the small child in the room. She's bundled to her neck with the blanket that had been scarcely given to her by Edge. Finally having fallen asleep, she is lucky not to overhear her fate. Yet after watching her mother brutally killed before her eyes, the child was sure to have already known.  
  
Underfell civilians had killed before and, in their world, it was quite common. Coming to the surface hadn’t changed that mentality nor the value of life and, in the middle of an apocalyptic event like this, one or two more deaths was nothing to scoff at. After watching how the mother had died at the hands of Red, one of their own, Stretch knew that the child would face the same fate.  
  
He couldn't protect her and he had no inclination too. His efforts would always be fruitless. He couldn't do anything. He was powerless.  
  
So even before Edge began to speak Stretch already knew the truth for himself. Tunining out the words, he instead stared intently at the child. She didn't deserve the same fate as her mother. To be maimed and tortured, to fear and panic in the last moments of life. No, that was wrong and … inhuman.  
  
Was there even a word like that for monsters? Certainly not in the Fell’s world, but Stretch couldn’t think of anything in his world either. ‘Mercy’ seemed the only thing close to it. The child deserved to be spared of any pain. … I  
  
“..… It would be best if she was killed in her sleep.”  
  
Edge’s piercing red eyes widen at the sound of those coarse words. Those words of premeditated murder trembled through his spine and would have given him goosebumps if his arms weren’t bone. What a surprise to hear that from Stretch. He’d expected an outcry of letting the child live, instead his first words are of ‘how’ to kill the child, not whether it was right or wrong.  
  
It was such a callous thing to hear from a monster who took a pacifist standing on everything in life. Since they met, Stretch was the kind of monster who would beg to be left behind because their food would only last so long with two mouths to feed. Stretch was the type of monster who would use his own body as a shield to protect a complete stranger. - The reason why he was bit in the first place. Stretch was the type of monster who would want to go back and save his rapist… and actually laugh and get along with him.  
  
He must have really lost his spirit if he agreed with killing someone.  
  
“In my home world, children weren’t spared. It was a horrible thing… to fight for your life every day, knowing some random person could just decide to stab you as you get the mail. Terror is the one thing worse than death. I um..” Edge bowed his head. Sure he was tired, but now he just felt deeply saddened. This was his friend. They were traveling to seek a cure- to find hope in this desolate world, hearing Stretch come to terms with their harsh reality… “I’m really glad you agree.” Edge mumbles. “I’m glad you can see the logic in killing.”  
  
Stretch bites his jaw together. “I don't. I just… I know I can’t stop it. … killing really seems pointless.” He scratches at his foot, feeling itchy. His brother’s bite was just one of many reminders that death was pointless.  
  
“I’m sorry I held you down before… I wanted to protect you. It’s not the prettiest sight.”  
  
“Hff...”  
  
“If Sans is going to continue traveling with us… he’s going to need to eat. We can ditch him of course. No more -”  
  
“No.” Stretch says quickly. “Red can stay! I don’t want you to have to give up your brother!”  
  
“Its fine. Honestly.”  
  
“That’s horrible…I just. I just wish there was a way to keep everyone alive? Why does anyone have to die? Why can’t he just eat regular food? I hate eating beans everyday… but I’m not going to try being a cannibal just for the variety! Its seems… like killing is pointless. And that’s what I hate the most. Why does anyone have to die? Why can’t we just … travel together? … “  
  
“Killing’s not pointless.” Edge sighs. He’s had to be patient with this swap version, but explaining something so basic seemed futile. Perhaps a different approach would make him see. So Edge raises his shirt and pulls his soul out from underneath his ribcage. Vulnerable like this, he holds it out for Stretch to get a good look at. “See the cracks? I would have died six… maybe eight times over if I didn’t kill other monsters. In a battle for your life the only thing that matters is who lands the final blow. Once I leveled up, I’d been immediately healed. The damage sustained was fixed. Scars and cracks are proof of how close I’ve come to shattering before. Leveling up makes you stronger, it boosts your health and attack and defense. Leveling can heal your status, it can remove poisons and fatigue and…”  
  
As he speaks out loud something clicks in his brain. Like a coder, explaining his process to a rubber duck, Edge suddenly realizes how he can cure Stretch. It was so simple, and in front of him the whole time!!! He grabs the other by both his shoulders, excited at the revelation that he can’t even put into words. A gasping stutter cracks through his wide smile, Edge’s eye’s filled with hope for the first time in a long time.  
  
“Edgy??”  
  
“Asshole, I finally figured it out!!”  
  
“I really don’t like that name-”  
  
“-You need to level up! You need to level up and it will cure you! The infection is like a poison status effect! Leveling up will restore you to normal!”  
  
“Um.”  
  
“... And … this is the perfect time too.” Edge squares his shoulders between both his claws, turning them both to again look at the girl. “Sans will torture her for the fun of it. Even I don’t want to see that…. But you. You can give her a merciful death… and cure yourself in the process! Win-win!”  
  
“... uh … Edge. I don’t think that’s how it works. ...I’m from Underswap, your from Underfell… I don’t think the same rules apply. Sides- if it was so easy to cure this… why aren’t more monsters doing it? Why didn’t Sans do it? He’s already killed… how do we know he’s not still infected?”  
  
“Sans is a different case, he doesn't have a soul. But you-”  
“-wait what-“  
“-I’m sure you can do it if you try! A lot of monsters from Underfell wouldn’t dare kill on the surface. This place was supposed to free us. Probably no one’s tried to kill anyone but the undead. I sure as hell haven’t!”  
  
The enthusiasm radiating off the other monster is rare. Stretch bites back his questions and tries to follow along. He nods his head and smiles along, but can’t stop the look of dread from seeping into his facial features.  
  
“So you’ll do it?”  
  
“....uh..” He’s referring to killing a human child. Edge has a puppy dog look in his face that looks too hopeful. Stretch bit back his own tongue.  
  
Killing a human seemed like something innately wrong… and yet he can’t deny the nightmares he’s had. He used to think that the human in the ruins used to run around murdering monsters left and right. Stretch was the only one who could stop them, he’d wait at the end of the judgement hall leading to the Queen and he’d kill the human again and again.  
  
It was easy in his dreams.  
  
Sans was dead by the humans grubby little hands, and it was the easiest thing in the world to seek vengeance. To despair and give into grief and unflinch while the human’s blood splattered the walls and ceiling as he threw them back and forth…. But that was just a thought -a nightmare- clearly the human was the savior of monsters and without an ounce of love to his name Stretch couldn’t even begin to imagine the nightmares were ever real.  
  
But left on her own… the child would surely experience something worse than death. Through the crack between Edge’s legs he was able to see how Sans hunted the human mother. She struggled so hard to live and still died in the end, maimed and bleeding and screaming the whole time…  
  
“Papyrus?” It’s the first time Edge has called them by their name, probably to get his attention and answer.  
  
“Okay...” Stretch nods his head again and again, eyes fixed on Edge. “I’ll trust you.”  



	9. Killing Makes me Hard

“Keep your stance wide. Keep your body lowered.” Edge helps him to stand on his own, despite the pain that resonates from that foot. Stretch teeters, trying not to put pressure down on it, and ends up using Edge as a support beam. “That’s good.” Edge’s soft voice whispers small words of encouragement… despite the horrors he was about to do. “Now… draw your magic to yourself, pool it in the pit of your chest with each breath. Don’t release it yet.”  
  
“I know how to summon my magic…”  
  
“Yeah? Sure you do, Sparky. That’s why it exploded in your face last time, right?”  
“…”  
“Just breathe. Feel the energy flowing.”  
  
Stretch closed his eyes and tried to follow directions. He took a deep breath, and another, trying to get a feel for his magic. Inside his body magic was easy to direct; it lit his eyes and moved his limbs. But outside his body, it manifested as weapons, that magic was harder to control. There was a tremor of feedback last time that hurt him and made the weapon spark and dispel as soon as it had formed.  
  
Stretch stills his breath, drawing it out longer and slower, awaiting the next order. His senses became more acute. He could feel Edgy’s breath against his collar. His large hands holding his shoulders upright, the flat of his back against Edge’s ribs. The unbearable itch of the bandages wrapped around his foot, the chill of the meat locker… the soft snores of the other two residents in their tiny cell block.  
  
“Okay, now look at your target. Deep breaths. The first one is always the hardest. Just… commit to what you have to do. Give yourself a reason to fight. It doesn’t have to make sense… just let it feel right.”  
  
“…is a painless death a good reason? … Stars, I’m horrible.”  
  
“No- no! You’re not! You’re kind and caring, even towards strangers… it doesn’t make you a bad person! This is a merciful death… that’s more than enough reason!! My first kill I only thought of protecting myself and Sans. When you have something to protect, that reasoning to kill – however small- becomes enough to fight for! You’re protecting her soul, okay? You’re protecting her innocence and saving her from this corrupt world! You’re a hero, Papyrus! You can do this! I believe in you!!!!”  
  
Stretch frowned, the pulse of magic through his body trembled throughout his bones. But he found his mind calm. Part of him felt like he had killed a child time and time again… it was routine. It was a muscle memory laid deep inside his mind- waiting to be called forward.  
  
Stretch’s magic glowed brightly from his chest, ebbing to his fingertips where it sparked and cackled in a wave of electricity. His magic was having trouble coalescing into a weapon. Stretch hissed, as the magic tried to weave its way forcibly back into his body- the feedback from the summoned bone attack is too much of a strain. After a couple seconds Stretch gives up, dispelling the magic and panting hard.  
  
“It’s no good.” He falls to his knees and clutches his middle. “It just hurts to maintain a form.  
  
“Try again.” Edge commands. “Do it for her. That is, of course, you’ll do it for him. For Sans. In one kill you can spare this little girl the terror of death and you can give Sans the strength to travel with us for months. I can preserve a human soul; they’re surprisingly well kept in bottles. Just try again.”  
  
Easier said than done.  
  
“…” Stretch scratched his bandages, his ankle felt sore from his little topple. It didn’t go unnoticed. With slanted eyes, the taller of the two peers down at him. The infected bite to his ankle was probably blocking his magic in some way. For monsters, magic was the same as the life blood that ran through other creatures on the surface.  
  
Maybe it couldn’t be done. Edge sucked in a breath, kneeling down to lend his shoulder for the other to pull himself up. But just as he gives up on Stretch, the unthinkable happens.  
  
A black shard of bone materializes, spotted with the faint orange color of Stretch’s own magic -it drips like an inkwell had been poured over it. Stretch whimpers into his tied up hands – but doesn’t let up now that his magic has made something that resembled an attack. Whatever this dripping wet mound of paint and magic was, it was stable. Mostly.  
  
A loud cracking fills the room, emanating from its center of mass. Like velcro being ripped through a megaphone. It cracks whips of electricity around it, both melting and retaining a jello- like form. The sound trembles through each and every bone of Stretch, tears well up in the corner of his eyes. The sound also sends tremors through each and every resident in their small cell room. Including the human- whose eyes shoot open and fear flashes through her expression. In a microsecond- Stretch begins to see fear morph onto her fragile features. He was too late- but it’s better than the alternative.  
  
So he shoots anyway. Wincing his eyes closed as the magic writhed through his tendon and shot pain up his arm. And the black bone construct shot across the room- hitting its target dead on.  
  
Only…  
  
His attack didn’t have the potency of a normal strike. Upon collision with the fleshy human in the way of its forward path- the bone attack phased in and out of its solid and liquid state of being. In seconds everything unfolded out.  
  
The human woke up to the sound of lightning.  
Stretch saw her. Stretch panicked.  
He directed his attack to move and hid his face in Edge’s shoulder.  
Edge smiled wickedly- enraptured by the beautiful ebony bone gliding across the room.  
The humans eyes widened fully – awake and aware of the projectile. But it’s much too fast.  
The black shard of bone hits.  
It strikes her forehead straight on.  
  
\--And the jelly quivers. –  
  
A shockwave is sent back, rippling through the black and orange jello bone mold.  
It bursts upon impact.  
Colors suddenly eject from its sausage-like casing.  
A well of black and orange dye the humans face and clothes and hair-  
-and silhouetted her figure against the back fridge wall.  
  
And just like that time began to move again- punctuated by Edgys distinct laugh. The skeletons sharped fangs arch into an impish smile, trying so hard to hold back but he can’t help himself. What starts as a shocked ‘Pffft!!!!’ becomes a full on ‘NYAH HAHA!!!’ his ribs rising and sinking and he can’t control himself and tears well up in his eyes. “THAt wAS!!! THAT’S WASHAHA - Oh STARs that – was beautiu- NYahHA HAH HEH -AH!!” He almost drops Stretch as he wheezes for air.  
  
The slender orange hoodie wearer, has no clue what’s going on. ~Wedged between Edge’s neck and shoulder he had purposely tried to obscure his view of the eminent blood that was coming. Hearing Edge laugh… was disturbing on so many levels. He stared wide eyed at the cloth Edge wore- half afraid to turn up his head.  
  
But he doesn’t level and the human is screaming now- so he snaps up his neck to look in immediate fear of the worst. – worrying he had missed- worrying he had made her pain far more excruciating than a swift merciful death.-  
  
He had no idea what to expect when he sees the splatter of ink on the walls. It’s like an octopus thought to shoot their whole load across the northern wall. The child- the wall, the barrels and blankets were all speckled with the condensed sap of magic and toxins.  
  
The human stands- on wobbly feet- screaming and spitting up the black tar from her mouth. Her high pitched prepubescent voice rings in their skulls – somewhat louder than the electricity his magic had caused. It’s a wonder Sans is still asleep just four feet away.  
  
“AH HA!! NYeH-! ASSHOLE! HE Y – ASSH Aaaa! Ohmuystahrs! ASHHHOLE GO -! Go and AHhah! haHa! Finesh HER!!” Edge falls to a knee- holding his side in a fit of laughter. His collapse leads Stretch to fall over too. The skeleton curses as the sharp sensation of weight shifts through his sole and echoes through the hollowed bones in his ankle. He’s forced to take a knee too- as the human panics and sprints across the room- clawing over boxes and reaches for the door.  
  
“AHS A!! ASH!! Get her ! Don’! HHHhhh (Wheeze-) Don’t! LEt her OpEN THAT DOOR!!!!”  
  
Stretch understands at once. He holds out his tied hands again- willing another bone construct to materialize, as the girl makes her way to the door. Tiny hands pull and twist to try and unlock the giant -out of place- cogwheel lock hat was put there for the purpose of lazy writing. She turns it a quarter of the way, the heavy hinges bellow with the resonance of a haunted ghost ship. Its metal echoes through the entire chamber.  
  
Edge sobers up – the crooked smile lines still on his face but now he is giving the door his whole attention. “Attack agen!” He slurs the command, looking quickly between Stretch and the child. The cog turns again. Edge flounders to his feet and holds the other side of the wheel quickly, preventing the tiny child from turning “do it!”  
  
Stretch heaves a breath- drawing magic to his fingers willing an attack to form again but all that comes out are painful sparks. They envelop his chest-discharging from his very soul. Stretch chokes for air- suffocated by his own magic.  
  
The child has spunk though, she’s not ready to give up this life. The futility of turning the door handle dawns on her so she aims for the obstacle in her path- Edge. She swiftly kicks him in the shin, making the skeleton careen forward in pain. ‘Fucking Brat!” Edge scowls. He reaches for the door handle as it turns again- a half quarter more.  
  
She kicks at his hand and arm and flails wildly, already so close to breaching the safety of the fridge. Who knew what waited outside for them. … a bomb strike? Radiation? A zombie hoard? Poachers? It wasn’t safe! Not yet!  
  
Edge growled in his throat- watching as his alternate writhed in pain to fire off another attack. Watching as his lazy brother slept in the corner of the room. Watching as the girl turned the knob again and Edge was too busy crouched on the floor to be able to stop her from unsealing the very tomb that kept them safe. He didn’t want to- he want to give Stretch a second chance, but at this rate it fell to him to finish the job.  
  
The screaming stops.  
  
All too easily the human was knocked backwards, limp as a ragdoll, as Edge’s red spear pierced through their left eye and through their skull and through the metal container walls. Edge flinched in anguish caring only about how the piercing might have destroyed the integrity of their safe house. But upon careful and quick rationalization, he made the decision not to dismiss his magic. If it struck clean- the wedged spear itself was a deterrent to the outside air pressure. Great. That was a load off his shoulders. He sighs a breath of relief, the new set of LOVE floods through his bones like the warmth of a mother’s caress. Peace at last. He re-locks the door with a spin and comes to face the other problem in the room.  
  
“Oh right. Um…” Edge bites his teeth together, unsure how to face the other Papyrus now that his hope for revival and mercy had been so wretchedly taken from him and her. Stretch is hunched face down. His tied hands are squished against his ribs in pain, but from a certain angle it looked like he was praying. “.. you did good? For a first timer.. Um.” He reaches out for Stretch’s shoulder but stops. He recedes quickly, tapping his fingers together nervously. “… There’s going to be more chances to lvl… don’t worry, kay? I just couldn’t risk… the door. And.- … you didn’t look like you could make another attack so soon.”  
  
Stretch is unresponsive. Whether he was unconscious or brooding, Edge had no clue. He was too overcome with sorrow to try to disturb the other with any more mellow excuses.  
  
Edge excused himself, leaving to find a jar for the human. There’s one in their supplies- jars sans brought for them to relieve themselves. – room enough for a soul. He scopes the morsel up and catches the lid tight. Then he moves to deal with the bloody mess in the room. – blood on one side- black tar on the other. This place would smell if it wasn’t so cold. The dry air would delay the odor from spreading.. for now.  
  
Edge awkwardly mopped up the mess against the walls- smearing the black tar onto a towel and streaking it against the walls. All his scrubbing got him nowhere. For all his effort in trying to clean, he felt like he was an insane patient; streaking the walls with clumps of shit. It was an off-putting thought to think of what exactly this tar was and how much of it was still in the other skeletons system….  
  
Feeling satisfied with removing a surface layer of dirt- Edge moved on to the other side of the crime scene- draping the girls blankets over her. She was a coat hanger now. It was a pathetic attempt to clean and the more fastidious side of him would like to grab a mop and bucket- or better yet- LEAVE- but he refrains. He has no such options anyway.  
  
He comes back to Stretch. Not like he had left him anyway. – everything was almost within arm’s reach in this small container, but Edge still decides to give him a bit of space. He sits beside his twin, and patiently waits for the sobbing to stop.  
  
Perhaps it was callous, but Edge didn’t much care after the first ten minutes. He thought the skeleton would stop by now… and his ability to remain empathetic was dwindling. He cared about the skeleton! Sure… but this was exhausting. He wished desperately Stretch would start to talk so he could get an idea of the mood here.  
  
Was Stretch crying over the human? Was he crying because he was in pain from overusing his magic? Was he crying because now he might never level and heal himself of this disease? Was he crying because he was a sensitive bitch? All of the above? Who knew, Edge would be lying if he didn’t say he felt guilty of it too. If nothing else, he’d robbed the skeleton the slim chance of healing his wounds and status and lvling up.  
  
But behind his guilt, Edge felt really really proud of his clone. The Papyrus actually tried to kill. He was willing to earn a lvl and his marksmanship was spot on. If his attack hadn’t been so corrupted, it would have been a perfect silent kill. Not to mention, it was impressive how the other stood his ground and despite the pain of his own magic lashing out- tried again and again to make a follow up attack.  
  
If he were healed, he’d make a great ally. Edge couldn’t be prouder of him. In this moment alone, the skeleton proved he could indeed fight. Maybe if he wasn’t such a soft swap monster he would be a great leader. This was a good first run. He wasn’t giving up on his twin yet- the other had so much potential.  
  
“.sorry.” The whisper makes its way to Fell by some stroke of luck. He hadn’t been listening for mumblings at all and the skeleton had finally stopped his sniveling. “i couldn’t hit him. Her. I -!- I heard my brother in her screams. That terror! That hate! I just…” He trails off, never completing his thought.  
  
He looks up at Edge now, finally turning his head so that every wet drop of tears streaming down his face was visible.  
  
It hit a chord with Edge. Suddenly the sounds of sobbing wasn’t just noise… it was pain. Real pain from his friend. Stretch’s face was a warm burnt caramel color from all his crying. His eyes were aglow with a honey mead color that resonated deep into the depths of Edge’s very being.  
  
Even without understanding why Stretch was crying, he understood why he was hurting and that was enough to want to console him.  
  
He wanted to reach out and touch him. –to wipe away those tears and apologize. Apologize for real because this could have been Stretch’s last chance for a quick cure.  
  
He can’t help it as his subconscious wishes become reality- his trembling gloved hands reaching to cradle the side of Paps skull. The skeletons eyes closed, leaning into the touch and allowed the gloved hands to stroke away tears with his thumb.  
  
When his eyes open again, Stretch meekly smiles. Despite everything they had been through, and everything they would go through, that biting smile was radiant. Beautiful… there really was still hope left in this world.  
  
It was him.  
  
Edge leaned forward, driven by an impulse to just… cry with Stretch. It felt like somehow over this loss their souls were in sync. That pain had triggered every other accident, every other trial they’ve overcome and the shock of how they were even still alive hits them all at once. A laugh becomes a broken cry and Edge joins Stretch with a tearful smile, trying to hold it together like the skeleton across from him.  
  
It was nice not to have to act strong all the time and lean on someone for support. They were both in pain… and it was okay.  
  
It was okay to get sentimental and want to cry and cuddle. But most of all, Edge wanted to kiss him. During this whole trip he’d been pining over the altermate version of himself. The vanilla copy was surprisingly sweet and thoughtful and Edge hadn’t experienced that kind of affection for a long time.  
  
Edge opened his mouth, jaw twitching with a question. Should he ask to kiss or was it more natural to just go for it? Sitting on the floor with the skeleton half on his lap had them too close together as it was, but somehow Edge found the space to lean in for a kiss.  
  
He was surprised when Stretch followed his actions- leaning in with eyes half lazed. All too eager Stretch had already manifested a tongue. It was arousing… but… the pure orange color was like a warning sign in Edges mind. Hazard material. Alert. Stop. Edge had to turn away.  
  
But Stretch hung there, blushing with his mouth slightly parted and his eyes closed- leaned in just enough for Edge to take control and actually go the full way with a kiss.. but he just couldn’t and it felt awkward to leave the other hanging. “Sorry.. I um…”  
  
Stretch opened his eyes, clearing his throat when he saw how far and nervous Edge had distanced himself. He leaned back too, maintaining a friendly distance again. “oh right. me.” He strains a laugh while pointing a finger at himself. The bound hands only seem to cement something that they don’t really want to say out loud.  
  
*For Edge, the bound hands were a symbol of life and death.  
  
Earlier, when Sans almost bit him, Edge wasn’t sure if living this dreadful life was worth it. He would end up being the last one alive in their group or he could willingly get infected, and spend his last days beside those he cared about.  
  
The choice seemed obvious, (even if he didn’t want to die) there was no chance he could go back to being alone…  
  
It was a choice that filled him with guilt every time he stared at his twin. The other would die, and Fell would eventually have to kill his best friend. Or he could die beside him. Peacefully. No one should have to live or die alone, after all .  
  
Someone should never have to feel guilty about wanting to live, it’s instinctual to want to survive, but Edge thought about it constantly. Was it selfish to want to live? Was it selfish to deny them both a simple kiss, when it was clear they liked each other?  
  
*As for Stretch, the tape was only a reminder that he was a danger to himself and others. The tape was a reminder that he was doomed to die and to want something ‘impossible ‘this late in his life was useless. It was better not to get entangled in those kind of emotions. It was selfish of him to want to drag others down with him. Especially for a petty romance with someone who may literally be the last man on earth.  
  
They were both a mess. The inner turmoil in their heads and guilt had built a wall between what could have been their first kiss. Now the moment has long since passed, and it was painfully worse than a flat out rejection. Knowing the other also had feelings made this infection a third prominent wheel between what could blossom into love.  
  
But Edgy isn’t giving up easy. Meekly, he offers a different solution. “… hug?”  
  
It sounds weird coming from such a battle hardened veteran, but Stretch nods. He nods quickly and desperately, biting his teeth together to keep from crying again. Oh, how he craved this affection! Edge pulls him in closely, squeezing him tight because Stretch can’t hug back with his arms pinned between them.  
  
They had been close so many times before- (being carried and leaning on Edge for support)- but this was different. Finally embracing to try to get their feelings across, the hug conveyed a newfound emotional safety net and warmth. Maybe it was just the chill of the freezer on his bones but being pressed together like this bone tingling.. He closed his eyes and breathed in the others musk and scent of blood.  
  
It wasn’t long at all before something came up between them. Mortified, Stretch couldn’t take his eyes off the back wall- trying to look anywhere than at his pending erection tenting up. It only took seconds for Edgy to notice too, an idea pings into his head. “You know…” Edge whispers. “We don’t have to exchange liquids… to have fun.”  
  
A shiver runs up and down Stretch’s spine. His legs twitch, and itch. Was that… an invitation? But for what? How were they going to … if they couldn’t even kiss?!  
  
As if to answer him, Edge is already rubbing at the front of his sweatpants. A raw shiver of arousal tenses through Stretch’s body. He can’t help the gasp that escapes him. Stars… when was the last time he masturbated? His body was sensitive to the light touches, but Stretch still couldn’t concede.  
  
“..S…Sans is-!”  
“-He’s asleep. And I won’t let him touch you again.” Beady red eyes narrow, looking at his prize and his brother to ensure they were far enough apart. Possessiveness lingered in his tone but his next words were softer. “Unless… you don’t want this?”  
  
He stopped his movement; the hint of hurt in his voice was evidence of his true intentions. He didn’t want to yeild- and yet, he froze and asked Stretch for consent.  
  
Stretch shook his head violently, face to face with a heated angel he wasn’t sure he could deny the sharp phalanges rubbing against the thin wall of fabric.  
  
“n-no! I do! … I do. Just… um…”  
  
“Its perfectly natural to be hard after a kill.”  
  
“I’m not a sicko like you…”  
  
“yeah? Then why’s this poking me?”  
  
“…I … kinda… like you.”  
  
That open confession makes Edge freeze, a dark red-violet glow starts to spread throughout his cheek bones. Sheepishly he looks away from his partner and admits, “yeah… I like you too...” They laugh a bit, this new confession was just another awkward exchange they’d had today. It felt so weird to be crying and laughing and hard at the same time. Yet… throughout this mess of a world, he found someone who he could share these weird new experiences with.  
  
Edge nuzzled close to him again, hands nervously working to shimmy the skeleton out of the sweats. The bunched up waistband around his iliac crest revealed a marmalade glowing half erect cock between them. Its girth is just as plump and similar to his own but with a smoother surface devoid of spikes and a glistened like amber.  
  
A brief shudder passes through them both. The cold air hitting the exposed skin makes the Stretch jump in his seat and Edge breathes out a heavy groan, no matter how many times he’d seen his own ecto-anatomy it was a completely different story when it was someone else. Was this really happening? Despite all his experience and levels… this was a whole new challenge. He brought his cupped hand around the base and tried to jerk it like normal but it only made Stretch hiss a sharp breath.  
  
“Sorry!... Its uh...” Edge faltered as he tried to give a hand job. When he did this alone it seemed so easy – being opposite across a monster was strange. “One sec.” Edge stood up, seemingly abandoning him, until he’d walked a half circle behind Stretch and sat down.  
  
Pressed up against the skeletons back, he whispered across his neck . “This is better, right?” He wrapped his hands around Stretch’s thin waist and began to stroke up and down his shaft easily.  
  
“mn…” was the only answer he’d gotten. It wasn’t exactly an endearing moan… but Edge tried his best to make this worth it for them both. He teased the base of Stretch’s spine with his other hand, jerking up and down the cartilage at the same pace with his dick. The golden caramel erection wasn’t getting hard though. With every stroke of his hand, Stretch buckled his hips up to meet the pressure but something was still wrong. It was apparent with every half groan stuck in Stretch’s throat, never developing into a full sound. His gloves scraped at the organ, pumping him each time rawer and sensitive.  
  
This was the opposite of sexy. Edge winced, wanting to bang his head against something, he settled against the back of the limber body in front of him. Burrowing his head between the nape of the others neck, Edge tried to think of how he could improve this. A dry tugging handjob wasn’t comfortable, even if Stretch didn’t complain and moved his hips in time to meet his hand… it was still something clearly strained.  
  
And Edge’s own pent up frustration ground up against his leather pants, every moment becoming unbearable and equally uncomfortable. He grinded against Stretch’s back, futilely, but it wasn’t getting him close either.  
  
“W-why’d… you stop?” Stretch turns his head and strains to whisper. Seeing his flushed face so close to his own, Edge really wanted to kiss him, Stretch smelled amazing… even if it was just dirt and sweat, his unique musk drowned Edge. He leaned forward to kiss him, only for Stretch to pull away. “D-don’t. hff..You’ll be …” Edge sighs. Doing something so intimate should have been more… intimate, its bad enough he can’t kiss him but this was also probably more painful than pleasurable for Stretch. He turned his head away too, biting down on his tongue to quell the need again.  
  
That’s when he spots one of the crates Sans brought down into the basement. Of all the provisions he’d asked his brother to bring – this one was simply a box full of honey. Jars bearing the farms insignia were stacked in neat little rows. This wasn’t food! Edge wasn’t even sure he could stomach more than a teaspoon before he got a sugar headache… but amidst his anger he realized the honey might have solved his lubrication issue…  
  
“Hold on, I have an idea.” He abandons Stretch again to grab a jar, unscrew its lid and slather the gelatinous syrup over his gloves. The newly found slick spreads over his member in an agonizingly slow drip, Edge coaxes it across his entire phallus before actually continuing their game. “This’ll make you real nice and slick ….”  
  
“.H-honey??” The sight of the sticky lubricant oozing over his member made him suck in a shaky breath. Cold and sticky; it should have been uncomfortable but the drizzle of it on his cock made him shiver, anticipation ran though his bones.  
  
Edge was right there with him, breathless as the slather of honey gushed around his gloved fingers. He rubbed it in with his thumb, both spreading the slick over his partner and working him up again. Honey blended with the natural orange glow.  
  
Edge made sure to outline every detail of his dick- touching every inch of skin – to make sure his copy enjoyed this thoroughly. He never wanted to hear a fake moan again.  
  
Able to pump his hand up and down the thick girth at last, he quickens his speed. At once Stretch quivers in his arms, a symphony of pleasurable sound starts to pour from his mouth.  
  
“AAahn!” Stretch brought his hands to his mouth, unable to stop the compulsion to cry out in bliss.  
  
“Don’t cover your mouth. I want to hear you.” Edge begs. He’s pressed the whole back of his body against Stretch, dry humping him from behind as his erection proved more and more painful to restrain.  
  
He pumps Stretch roughly in succession twice more, greedily watching every expression he can from this side angle. The way he squinted his eyes closed and his eye lights turned to hearts, the slight dribble from the corner of his mouth and the way his legs twitched and his magic quivered… it was enthralling.  
  
“Ahh- that!...feels good!” Stars he could relish in those moans forever. Edge nuzzled the nape of his neck, opening and closing his mouth to bite down on his collar bone but never actually doing so. Even a lick seemed taboo, so he hung his mouth torturously over his prize, rubbing his skull against Stretch’s too show any kind of affection. He wanted to be close… so much closer.  
  
“Edge… I’m-!” The bucks of his hips were able to express that anguish and, without saying a word, Stretch began to move his coccyx to grind up against him too. The meet of their clothing could barely stimulate Edge. He yearned to be buried inside a writhing and desperate Asshole’s… well … asshole. Feeling the heat of inner muscles constricting on his dick as he plunged in again and again… watching his copy become a mess of saliva… biting and leaving marks everywhere across that succulent bone…  
  
“You’re doing so good, honey.” Edge cooed, he’d have to shelve his fantasies, right now nothing mattered more than hearing this little angle scream. He pressed his thumb deep against the groove of his head, drawing up droplets of pre. “You’re already so wet…” A deep coal-like color coated his fingers. Edge raised a bone brow, slowing his ministrations.  
  
That toxic sludge was still inside his magic. It was probably the reason attacks were painful to summon, it was blocking his magic from flowing freely.  
  
Edge circled the tip of his cock with an index finger, squishing together his foreskin to press more of the thick tar out, rubbing the thick goo between his fingers. If he got it all out of his system could Stretch be cured? It seemed too much of a longshot to say out loud, but whatever the sludge was it appeared hazardous to stay in his body.  
  
Edge quickened his pace, bringing Stretch closer to release. “Arch your spine for me. Lean closer. I’ll get you off, baby doll.”  
  
With the other hand Edge began stroking at the beautiful porcelain ribs just hidden under his hoodie, Stretch did his part to raise it biting down into the cotton to quiet his mewls and allow for more caresses, groaning in appreciation at the flutter of those digits over his sensitive bones. With the fabric serving as a muffle Papyrus couldn’t speak.  
  
He thrashed and whimpered as he came closer, arching off the ground to chase the feeling building through his body. Edge caught him in his hands, keeping his body pressed between his strong embrace. Between the twitching of his hips and the hitched breathing, Edge slid his fingers down, stroking at the coccyx in hopes to make something else stimulated.  
  
His fingers hooked in and out of the gape and pulled tautly as Stretch thrashed around, until he threw his head back in a gratuitous moan and squirted into Edge’s hand. Painting his gloves in the black and color… spotted with orange.  
  
Edge was fascinated, wanting to play with the slick on his gloves. “Look, honey. This is all you.” He nipped at the shirt in front of him, wanting to lick and bite bone. The breathless skeleton in his arms whimpered, coming down from his high to see the distorted magic, elastically stretched between Edge’s thumb and forefinger.  
  
“Gross..” He hums.  
  
“Yeah..” Edge agrees, still turned on. “We should get it all out.” His free hand slides from the ribs and starts to tease again at the head of his dick. Papyrus squeals, over sensitive and still fresh off his orgasm.  
  
“no- no. let me rest..! wha- what about you?”  
  
“I’m fine. “ Edge whispers sweet lies. He tried to keep his own hips from rocking up. “I’m glad to be holding you…” He finds contentment with just holding him. He leans his nose in his collar, deeply inhaling the strong scent of musk unique to his twin. Bone, sweat, milk, honey…  
  
“stop tickling me.” Honey laughs.  
  
“this tickles you?” Edge mumbles, he could fall asleep right here, with a boner pressed up against his favorite persons back. Stars he was tired… sleep deprivation was getting to him.  
  
“ Oh.. just bandages.” Stretch hums. He leans back into Edges embrace. Trying to hold one of his hands between his own duct taped claws. “Messy…” he mumbles. Feeling the slick of honey and semen between the digits.  
  
“Can’t exactly wash up…” Fell forces his eyes open, “What do you mean tickling?...”

  



	10. mini update~ cuz im a jerk (;;; Q wQ) and now I go on hiatus forever...

His bandages itched. They had for a while now, but Stretch ignored the uncomfortable throb. A wound wasn’t supposed to feel ‘pleasant’ after all, but the tickling was new. He kicked out his leg as if he would break out into dance but even that didn’t make the tingling go away. Fells heavy skull and warm body was pressed against his back, idly looking on. Barely able to stay awake, yet curious by this development. Fell mumbled by his neck, not too close to the bone to be in danger, but still close enough to feel the wisp of his breath nearby. 

“Did you change your bandages when I was away?”

Stretch shook his head, knocking into Fells jaw with a small bump. The skeleton groaned and shifted, but didn’t move away from the embrace they were cuddled up in. An awkward sorry passed his teeth, but this wasn’t the first time they had knocked into each other. Saying sorry again and again, and doing the same thing over and over seemed redundant. Fell already knew he didn’t mean it. 

“After?”

“...well we met up with Red and haven’t stopped driving since then. This place is the first solid ground we’ve had in a while.” 

“...hmm. ” Fell sighs. Not learning his lesson he closes his eyes and leans back down on Stretch’s shoulder. But he can’t quite nod off. “...wait- you haven’t taken a shower since it…- he, … touched you?”

“...Not like we have a steady supply of water Edgy.” 

“I suppose so.”

“Does that bother you? That your brother ra- touched me?”  
“Quite.” 

“But you can touch me too.” 

“It's not the same.” A gentle squeeze around his mid-section, a sigh against his skull. “Can’t get closer than this…ever.” 

“... not forever.” Stretch made an uneasy laugh. “I’ll… get healed soon. We’ll find a cure. For me and Red.and Blue. And we’ll all we happy together. Right?”

“...” 

“Right Fell?”

“...”

Fells even breathing passes his skull. The skeleton is finally asleep,a feeling of safety overcoming him as he held the person dearest to him in his arms. Defence lowered. He only ever let himself rest when he was by his side. 

Stretch sighed and fell back into the arms cradling him. 

Dead corpse coat rack on the left, blood splatter art piece on the far wall, crazed sleepy cannibal on the right. Yet somehow, he wasn't off put by the grotesque scene. They were alive. And they would do whatever they could to stay that way.

Stretch closed his eyes too. He didn’t like Red, but his alternate world brother would always be a Sans. Would always be someone he could trust, besides, Fell would protect him. He had nothing to fear. Nothing except death. He started to listen to Fells breath beside him, wanting to sleep too. Real sleep, not the restless and sudden faints that left him more tired and confused. The itching didn’t stop. He scratched at it with his other foot, knowing the bite might reopen if he was too abrasive. Instead he feels a squish when his big toe siddles ip against the bandage. Something pops.

Like a welt or boil pussing open but skeletons didn’t exactly have the structure for something to swell up under skin. It confused Stretch enough that he forced himself to look up. To look at his bandages. The white bandage wasn’t dyed with his magic or blood. Besides a little dirt and mud on the outside of it, the cloth appeared as clean as the day he put it on some week ago. There were a few splotches of marrow here and there… and …. Lumps that were moving…. 

Stretch sat up slightly. 

He moved Fell back towards the pillows below him and untangled the gloved fingers from his hips so he could get a better look at the wound. Peeling off the paper had never been so nerve wrecking. Stretch bit his tongue as he unraveled layer by layer. Horrified at seeing the culprit behind the movement. 

Maggots. 

Or at least… the few that had hatched. Eggs were engraved deep into the stem of his achilles. They nested within the spongy articular bone at the top, plenty of hollow spaces tonest. Like small little bee hives the maggots chewed through his outer shell of bone, almost transparent from the viewable surface. It was hardly a good thing he’d been hobbling around all week. . It would easily snap if he had put pressure on it. 

Stretch grossly watched as the worms writhe through the sallow compartments, empty of marrow and hollow for their nest. The bite chunk taken out of his ankle was scabbed over, sealing them inside the warmth of a living host. They fed off his magic and carved out nests in his bone. 

He was afraid to take his eyes off the horrid lump of insects, but he needed to do something! He twisted his body around, facing the sleeping Fell. His first thought was to wake him up. But… seeing the serene expression on the skeletons face made him second guess that decision. Fell could use all the sleep he could get. He deserved to rest right now. He deserved a lot of things that Stretch couldn’t give him. … Waking the skeleton up with yet another problem wasn’t right. 

What could he do then? 

Stretch returns to the wretched scene of maggots squirming along his marrow cavity and knows he wants them out. Needs them out. This itching, this tickling, was far from the rash he thought it was. 

Fell kept a knife on him. Probably several, but Stretch had seen him pull one out from his leg earlier when he needed to ‘chat’ with Red He patted around for the same one now, careful to pull the velcro sash off in its entirety rather than slash the knife out where it could harm Fell. His tied hands didn’t make it any easier, but he was able to secure the knife. 

Now what?

He slipped the knife from the pouch and held it in one of his hands, hovering over the leg. Could he really do this? Cut it off?


	11. It's going tibia okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, here we are again lovelies!  
> This chapter has been on my mind forever ... and I didn't hold back on the descriptive horror here. HeHEHEH.   
> SO~ please don't read if your disgusted by the following 2k word amputation scene :DDlol

Fell opened his eyes when he felt the weight of the knife leave him. Always on edge, he was a light sleeper even though he'd been dead tired. The threat of death outweighed the need for sleep in his subconscious brain and woke him immediately. But he did not jump to alert his attacker. He opened one eye and felt a sigh of relief seeing only the honey-colored sweatshirt. The twin Papyrus was still here, still safe. And though they were locked in a freezer, this closed space was becoming normal to see. His mind stilled a little, recognizing the lack of threat it urged for him to sleep again. ...but 

That still didn't excuse the knife from leaving his side. 

Fell peered at his crush, watching as the blade hovered over the other's leg. Such hesitation… yet there wasn't any tremble in the hold. Downwards, where the weight of the knife was slowly being gravitated towards, the bandages had been pulled aside from corners of blotched dried marrow - the twisting and uniform waves like an ocean of over a dozen squirming insects burrowed between bone. Fell had seen this before. It was something repulsive when he'd seen it as a child, but over the decade he'd come to know the magic feeding maggots they stopped being something grotesque and became a mundane part of death he'd grown numb to seeing. 

"They're digesting you." Fell sits a little forward, leaning across Stretch's back to properly reach for the blade. He slides his arm over Stretch's and holds the knife together with him. Keeping the other from doing anything rash. " It's called myiasis. In my homeworld… they'd consume half dead monsters. Sometimes rather than getting the exp from a fight it was better to extract information by using these. Other times… someone just failed to land the final hit and walked away too soon. I've seen a couple of these species feasting on the zombie corpses I've been fighting along our journey. They must be more active on the surface since its warmer. I don't know if there was any medicine to cure it… it could also be since your half zombie already that these things won't kill you."

"…" There was focus there, even if he couldn't see his eyes, Fell knew. He breathed along the monster's neck, sighing contently with just this little closeness. Wanting just this to last forever… yet faced with the writhing worms just a glance away. ...Stretch was dying. He was always dying. Since the moment they met the skeleton was ushered a death sentence and a countdown unknown to either of them. The time they had right now wasn't guaranteed and Fell hated that. 

"...what do you plan to do with the knife?" He mumbled against his neck. 

"...Nothing." Stretch whimpered, his grip released and Fell was able to take up the knife again. He relinquished his control. But Fell didn't slip the knife away again. He held it outwards. The same way it had been given to him. Not ready to tuck away the knife nor this conversation. 

"...I can cut the leg." Fell says. "That’s what you wanted to do… right?"

There's no response, just the head nod rubbing against his own skull. Fell gulps. "Is it anywhere else?" 

"just the leg. I think." 

"Good." Fell sucked in a breath and stood up, shuffling around on his knees to come to face his partner. When he stood in front of the Papyrus he didn't see his own face reflecting back. The Bastard was someone he'd really grown to appreciate on his long journey alone. If there was even the slightest chance he could keep him for a day more… an hour more… 

He threaded the knife between the gauze and bone and ripped through the white linen to see the full damage. The maggots had hollowed out the marrow of his bones and dug holes throughout his leg to the surface. They ate at his magic and at the calcium-rich brittle bones housing them. 

Careful of getting any on himself, Fell guided his hands upwards towards Stretch's thigh. He pressed his thumbs into the thick of bone, bending the weakened limbs and trying to move to higher ground to search for a solid part. There were slightly disgruntled groans from Stretch when the pressure concaved the malleable bone or pressed through entirely with the pus and squish of a thumb through rotten fruit. His gloves were stained black and orange and not in the slightest way clean to do some surgery… but there was no vocalized complaint as Stretch watched him work. The gloves stroking and pressing for something solid until he found the tender patting of the upper thigh to be solid. 

Fell looked up. "Everything below my thumb right now… might be infected." He paused, trying to read the reaction on his similar face. Even though it was his own… even though they were both Papyrus, the minute details of his facial expression were so foreign. Bastard was completely different than him and he loved it. … Though, it wasn't quite the time for that kind of sentimental thought. Fell turned his eyes back to the thigh, pressing his thumb around the circumference of the femur to check for any internal damage. Luckily enough, this part between the kneecap and his groin… this lower thigh seemed to be stable. "Everything below this… I'll have to cut. Is that o-"

"Yes. It's okay." He consents almost immediately. "Get them out. Please." 

There aren't any medical supplies down here. Not even liquor to keep the wound disinfected… nor fire to sear it closed. He didn't know any fire magic, that was outside of his expertise. And he doubted that his wasteful mutt of a brother would know any useful elemental magic even if he was awake. Better the lout kept asleep right now, so he wouldn't get triggered by the blood and regress further. 

"Okay… If I do this." Fell whispers. "It's going to hurt. A lot. And it won't stop even once I'm done. You definitely won't be able to walk and-"

"I can't walk now anyway…" Stretch says. 

"...and I don't have any anesthetic. … or alcohol. You might just be infected again." 

That’s when Stretch has the ingenious idea to reach behind him and pull out a container of honey. Fell raises a confused bone brow at the offer. In ancient Egyptian times, honey was used as a natural antibiotic and since it contained hydrogen peroxide and was thick and viscous it would prevent wounds from further contamination while protecting the layer beneath. "Back home we put honey on small burns. Like when I burned my tongue."

"I know you're trying to be helpful … but…I think slathering your leg in honey would attract more insects." Fell took the jar in his hand and turned over the label looking for any such usage. Nothing but the label of the farm was displayed at this step. The honey had yet to be processed or tested. "Whatever… I guess it will be thick enough to stop you from bleeding everywhere." 

He put aside the jar for now and turned back to the festering wound, knife at the ready. He looked up briefly to see if the other was still onboard, and the look of determination in his eyes told him everything he needed to know without asking. He pressed the knife closer against the invisible ring of solid bone and prepared to make the first cut. 

Bravely, there was no sound at the first shallow pass of the knife. Marrow and blood beaded up from the entry wound. Phalangees knotted in the blanket below. Stretch exhaled a shakey pained breath. 

Fell looked up at him. Just waiting for the okay now that he'd already started. He took in the whole picture of how they were in this moment.   
The pained expression on the others face and the held back whimpers…   
The knotted fingers digging through sheets…  
The hush passing his lips as Fell guided him to breath slower…  
The way the skeletons chest heaved just a little…  
And the buckle of his leg at the sharp pain…  
...Both his legs around Fell's waist… as he bent forward to reach the thigh…  
The hard grasp on the other's thigh to keep him from buckling…   
Bare… delicate pale bone… glistening…  
The two stuck in a deep eye contact… 

Fell couldn't deny he was turned on right now. HELL, he was still turned on from before. The micro nap didn't change the fact he was hard as hell and pressed up against the monster he really desired right now. 

He shook his head clear of the image, turning his attention solely to the cut and the knife. Cutting through bone was easy… when it wasn't blocked by fleshy tissue and fats. The blade rusted on those innards and then would chip on bone. But with the straight path, he could slice like butter, the same way he did to his brother's eye socket. It should be a familiar feeling to him, easy. 

He held a breath. Trying to stop worrying about how the skeleton was feeling. If he kept worrying, he would only prolong this surgery to keep asking if the other was okay. So he closed his eyes and sliced through. The leg split like a slice of tomato, gushy little pulp accompanying the fresh gash. And through it all came the sharp scream cut short and whine as Stretch shut himself up by biting on his shirt. He couldn't help the sound though. He screamed through the muffled clothing, eyes starting to water up and drool pooling in his mouth. 

Fell didn't look up, still holding the thigh with an anchor grip. There was a kick out and thrashing against him but he kept the other still, sawing through the very end of nerve until the leg was completely severed. He pushed aside the useless leg and scooted closer to the remainder, unscrewing the jar of honey and sliding it over the wound to submerge in the orange… now browning and red mixture. 

"We're done." Fell said, taking his own breath as the monster twitched in place. Tears ran down his skull and his shirt was damp with his saliva as he sobbed into it. There was a slight nod. Confirming he'd heard him, but couldn't calm down as the pain shook through his core. Fell sat between his legs. Rubbing the upper bone in soft circles to apologize for what surely would become black and blue later. "You did such a good job…" Fell tried to sound positive and reaffirming… but even to him, his words sounded out of place. 

Stretch fell forward, leaning on him with a muffled whine and whimper of pain. Shaking. 

"You're okay," Fell said pointlessly. He looked at his stained gloves from the other side of the hug. "You're okay." He said to himself. He pulled at a fingertip and seized the glove then carefully rolled down the other and balled them up to throw away from himself. His hands were clean. And so were his upper arms. He tapped the back of the shaking skeleton with the side of his arm, trying to be comforting. 

This felt really nice actually. 

If he closed his eyes, having the body pressed against him… tight. Closeness. It would be easy to fall asleep again. But being here for the other skeleton was important too. He ignored his sleepiness and rubbed the others back until there wasn't any more sobbing. Fell noted how strong he'd been. He praises him for that. 

When Stretch is, at last, calmed down though the shaking doesn't stop. 

The ground was quaking.

Even before the sound of explosions were within earshot… the ground moved. 

Thus began day 2 of their imprisonment.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if there are any tags or warnings missing!  
> Thank you for reading! ( 'w')b
> 
> If you're craving more~ Please check out a fic called " These are the nights that never die" by my friend and co-writer Dandelion Sea. Their writing is really good and I'd love to see more!!<3 Send some love.


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